
Class 
Book- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




CLIMBING THE ROCKIES. 



SHOSHONE 



AND 



OTHER WESTERN WONDERS 



By EDWARDS ROBERTS 

WITH A PREFACE BY 
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS 

ILLUSTRATED 




NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1888 



Copyright, 1888, by Harper & Brothers. 

All rights reserved. 



PREFACE. 



I 



N the preface to his volume called the " Ore- 
gon Trail," — one of the most delightful 
of his books, by the way, and one which should 
be regularly sold on the " overland trains " of 
the Union Pacific, — the historian Parkman 
describes how, shortly after graduation, he, in 
company with his cousin and classmate, Quincy 
A. Shaw, was one day journeying in the then 
wilderness, which is now Eastern Colorado. He 
says : — 

" I remember that, as we rode by the foot of Pike's 
Peak, when for a fortnight we met no face of man, my 
companion remarked, in a tone anything but com- 
placent, that a time would come when those plains 
would be a grazing country, the buffalo give place to 
tame cattle, farm-houses be scattered along the water- 
courses, and wolves, bears, and Indians be numbered 



VI PREFACE. 

among the things that were. We condoled with 
each other on so melancholy a prospect, but we 
little thought what the future had in store." 

This was in 1846. The object of the present 
volume is to describe to the tourist a route be- 
ginning where Parkman left off, at the foot of 
Pike's Peak, passing through the wonderful 
mountain and desert scenery of Colorado and 
Eastern Utah to Great Salt Lake, thence north- 
ward by the way of the Falls of Shoshone and 
the great lava bed of Idaho, through which the 
Snake cuts its way, to the .plateau of the Yel- 
lowstone. There rivers which flow to the Gulf 
pf Mexico, the Gulf of California, and the 
North Pacific, all find their source. From this 
mountain birthplace of flowing waters, the tourist 
w^ould emerge by the gateway of the Missouri. 

Travelled Americans are more familiar with 
Europe than with their own country; and yet it 
would not be easy anywhere in Europe to find 
so much that is novel, interesting and beautiful 
crowded into one short journey. There are 
historical associations, also, which attach to the 
trip. It is now familiar ground, but it was the 



PREFACE. vii 

field of the first explorations ever attempted by 
the United States Government. As they ap- 
proach it, most people probably suppose Pike 
to have been some miner of " the forty-nine " 
period; and they never know that the name, 
Pike's Peak, is the familiar monument of a gal- 
lant soldier of the United States, a brigradier- 
general of the War of 1812, Zebulon M. Pike, 
who in his thirty-fifth year met his death at 
the assault of York as it was then called, now 
Toronto, in April, 1813. Seven years before, 
in 1806, he had started from St. Louis, under 
orders from President Jefferson, to find his way 
to the head-waters of the Arkansas and Red 
Rivers. "While toiling thither he first descried, 
upon the 15th of November, 1806, the blue 
peaks of the Mexican mountains to the west- 
ward ; and accordingly the most prominent 
among them has from that day to this been 
known as Pike's Peak. 

So, also, the scientific name of Great Salt 
Lake is Bonneville, after that Captain Bonne- 
ville whose life and curious adventures among- 
the Indians about the year 1 830 have been 



Vlll PREFACE. 

vividly described by Washington Irving ; though 
with Httle actual knowledge of the subject about 
which he was writing. 

As the traveller goes north, following the 
route laid down for him by Mr. Roberts in this 
volume, he may enter the Yellowstone Park by 
the beautiful Canon of the Madison. Here he 
comes directly upon the trail of the expedition 
of Lewis and Clarke, sent out by President Jef- 
ferson in the year 1803 to find its way through 
the northern portion of the recently acquired 
Louisiana purchase to the mouth of the great 
river discovered by Captain Gray, of Boston, in 
the ship Columbia, in May, 1792. It was on 
the 28th of July, 1805, that the two famous ex- 
plorers, having toiled slowly up the Missouri, 
reached the point where the great river forked 
in three directions ; and they say : — 

"We were therefore induced to discontinue the 
name of Missouri, and give to the southwest branch 
the name of Jefferson, in honor of the President of 
the United States, the projector of the enterprise ; 
and called the middle branch Madison, after James 
Madison, Secretary of State." 



PREFACE. IX 

Returning the following year, having wintered 
at the mouth of the Columbia, Lewis and Clarke 
reached St. Louis on the 23d of September, 
1806, about two months after Lieutenant Pike 
had started on the journey which was to leave 
him a prisoner in the hands of the Spanish 
authorities at Santa Fe. The modern traveller, 
following the itinerary laid down in this volume, 
will thus go out by the route of Lieutenant Pike, 
and return by that of Lewis and Clarke, passing 
on his way through the scene of the adventures 
of Bonneville. 

But the tourist who would still like to have 
a taste, though hardly, perhaps, more than a 
remote flavor of what is known as '* roughing 
it" in his journey, has no time to lose. Civ- 
ilization, with all that the name implies, is 
rapidly taking possession of the whole moun- 
tain region of the West. Down to the days of 
Parkman, Colorado was much the same as when 
it was first explored by Pike. The change has 
come within the last twenty-five years ; and the 
change which has already taken place is sug- 
gestive of the yet greater change to come. 



X PREFACE. 

For the man or woman who, tired of the cities 
and of civilization, wishes for a time to get near 
to Nature, there is still much left west of the 
eastern base of the Rocky Mountains. Neither 
the steam railroad nor the electric road has yet 
marred the Yellowstone. The luxury and keen 
enjoyment of two days' staging even are to be 
had between Beaver Canon and the Firehole 
of the Yellowstone. 

The trip merits all that Mr. Roberts has said 
in its commendation. A few months ago Carl 
Schurz chanced to remark to the writer that 
of all earthly places his eyes ever rested on, 
Henry's Lake in Idaho, at the gates of the Yel- 
lowstone, seemed to him nearest to a terrestrial 
paradise. The remark met with a warm re- 
sponse. The day is not remote when at the 
head of Henry's Lake will be found a large 
summer hotel to which those residing in our 
Eastern cities, who are weary of watering-places 
and of the familiar European trips, will go to 
breathe in health from the fresh mountain air 
and to enjoy a scenery and a nearness to Nature 
which it is not easy anywhere else to find in 



PREFACE. xi 

equal proportion. That region is still wild. 
The woods are full of game, and the waters 
teem with fish. Day after day you can walk 
or go on horseback through those park-like 
mountain reaches, and feel that you are wholly 
away from the haunts of men. And yet in a 
few years they will be hardly less frequented 
than the White Mountains or the Catskills now 
are. 

It is still rare to meet any one w^ho has seen 
the Falls of the Snake ; and people look with 
mild surprise upon those who, having visited 
Shoshone, presume to compare it with Niagara. 
Yet no one possessed of a keen eye for the 
beautiful and the picturesque can visit the two 
places without feeling that the Idaho cataract, 
high up in the great table-land amid its lava 
beds, and under those wonderful mountain skies 
and in that mountain atmosphere, is incom- 
parably the more attractive, and, indeed, except 
in volume of water, the more wonderful, as well 
as more interesting, of the two. 

The proposed trip includes much, though for 
one starting even from the Eastern or seaboard 



Xll PREFACE. 

cities it can be made in the course of three or, 
at most, four weeks. It involves a lasting per- 
sonal acquaintance, as it were, with Niagara, 
Chicago, the great plains, the mountainous 
regions and summer resorts of Colorado, the 
Canons of the Arkansas and the Gunnison, the 
Marshall Pass, the Great Salt Lake of Utah, 
with its strange, picturesque, geological forma- 
tion and pure, clear, health-giving atmosphere, 
the Falls of the Snake, the two days' staging 
across the park-like mountain plateau which 
leads to the sources of the Madison, the innu- 
merable wonders of the Yellowstone Park, and 
finally the journey along the head-waters of 
the Missouri, all ending at St. Paul. No one 
who makes the trip is likely ever to forget it. 
That more may realize what it is, and so be 
induced to make it, is the object of the present 

volume. 

CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. 

Boston, July 20, 1888. 



CONTENTS, 



Chapter 



Page 



I. First Impressions i 

II. The City of Denver . 22 

III. Clear Creek and its Surroundings . 53 

IV. In the Shadow of Pike's Peak ... 73 
V. Through the Heart of Colorado . . 95 

VI. Glimpses of Utah 119 

VII. Shoshone 142 

VIII. A New Route to Wonderland . . . 174 
IX. Among the Geysers of the Yellow- 
stone . . 202 

X. Homeward Bound 246 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page 

Climbing the Rockies Frontispiece 

The Dawn of Civilization 5 

A Prairie Town . 15 

General View of Denver 25 

Fourteenth Street, Denver 29 

The State Capitol 37 

The Opera House 50 

Hanging Rock, Clear Creek Canon 55 

Idaho Springs 59 

Manitou 75 

The Antlers 84 

A Spring House %% 

On the Road to Pike's Peak 93 

Currecanti Needle, Black Canon 103 

Castle Gate 113 

East Side of Salt Lake City 123 

The Temple and Tabernacle, Salt Lake .... 128 

Pulpits and Organ 130 

The Grand Leap 143 



xvi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Pack 

The Great Falls, Shoshone 153 

Above the Falls 157 

The Twin Shoshone Falls 162 

Under the Great Falls, Shoshone 165 

Down the Canon from Twin Falls 169 

Madison Valley 175 

Snake River Crossing .186 

Fording the Snake 189 

Tyghee Pass 191 

Manley's Cabin 196 

Falls of the Yellowstone 203 

Old Faithful 222 

The Giant Geyser 229 

Following the Yellowstone 237 

Grand Canon of the Yellowstone 241 

Climbing the Terraces 251 

The Hot Springs Terrace 262 



SHOSHONE, 



AND 



OTHER WESTERN WONDERS. 



SHOSHONE, 



OTHER WESTERN WONDERS. 



Chapter I. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

AT the city of Omaha, overlooking the 
muddy waters of the Missouri, one is at 
last face to face with the far West. The city 
itself affords a striking illustration of the untir- 
ing industry that has so materially changed the 
aspect of the country lying between the Rock- 
ies and the Missouri. Surrounding Omaha the 
progress of later days is most marked ; but in 
the far distance are still the sea-like plains 
that were once the terror of a restless army 
bound across their trackless wastes toward 
Pike's Peak. 

In the *' good old days," as some enjoy calling 
that period during which the middle West was 



4 SHOSHONE. 

a veritable terra incognita, " the West " was 
Buffalo. Later, the distinction was claimed by 
Chicago. To-day, both these cities have lost 
such prestige. Even Denver, far away as it is, 
can scarcely be regarded as on the outskirts of 
civilization. For beyond it is Salt Lake City; 
to the northwest are Cheyenne and Laramie ; in 
the extreme north are Butte and Helena. The 
growth of the trans-Missouri country has been 
one of phenomenal rapidity. Every year the 
changes are marked and important. Denver, 
Kansas City, Omaha, and other places have 
grown from villages to towns, and from towns 
to cities. One need not read to obtain their 
history ; he can have it told by many a settler. 
The cities were born and have attained their 
manhood within a quarter of a century. 

In taking his first trip westward one must 
prepare to be disappointed. He will find less 
barbarism than he expected, and more civiliza- 
tion. The era which the novels of brilliant hue 
depict is an era of the past. Much is rough 
and uncouth, of course, and there are vast areas 
which, minus the Indian and the buffalo, are 
much as they were before the advent of civiliza- 
tion. But pressing hard upon neglected wastes, 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 7 

and fast obliterating all traces of that wild West 
which " Buffalo Bill " delights to illustrate, are 
the farms and homes of the new-comers. On 
every hand are seen the results they have ac- 
complished. Study as you travel, and you will 
find the middle West as interesting as a novel. 
You can see history created. The cities are 
monuments to a people who in the future, if 
not to-day, will be famous for their thrift and 
energy. 

If one's aim is enjoyment, he should take the 
West in sections. Try to see the entire region 
in one summer, and you will lose the charm 
which the more leisurely traveller gains. He 
who pays a flying visit to Europe, giving an 
hour to the Louvre, a day to Venice, a night to 
Paris, returns an ignoramus, confused and tired. 
So with the West: if too great haste is made 
the observer becomes confused. No particular 
spot is photographed on his mind. All is a 
jumble of prairie, mountain, river, and valley. 

In order, therefore, that we may return from 
our summer holiday refreshed in body and in 
mind, let us not journey far, nor hastily. At 
Omaha we can mark our course. It is not so 
much a question where it shall lead, as it is 



8 SHOSHONE. 

where it shall not lead. Before us lies the West: 
close at hand the middle West ; in the far dis- 
tance the Pacific West. Colorado, of course, is 
one objective point. Through that State extend 
the Rockies, ever attractive and alluring; and 
there too is Denver, the untiring city that to-day 
is one of the wonders of the country. Then, 
from Colorado, what more natural than that 
Utah should be visited, — Utah, the stronghold 
of Mormonism, the land of sunshine and culti- 
vated valleys and inland salty sea? But there 
we pause, and stifling the longing for lands 
still farther westward, turn northward through 
Idaho, and then eastward through the National 
Park, our " Wonderland," with its spouting gey- 
sers, its gorgeously colored canons, and forests 
of sweet-smelling trees. 

This, then, is our course. We will make a 
circle of it, nearly; for with Omaha as our 
starting-point, we will make St. Paul the end of 
our journey; and in the month or more that 
we are " on the wing," much of the glorious 
scenery of the middle West will be ours to en- 
joy. In our path will be cities that cannot fail 
to command admiration ; views over which our 
artist will go into ecstasies. W^e shall climb 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 9 



mountains, follow the course of winding streams, 
loiter at the Shoshone Falls, — higher and wider 
than those of Niagara, — and, toward the end of 
our time, wander at will among the curious for- 
mations of the Yellowstone. 

When it was first proposed to build the Union 
Pacific Railway, the idea was regarded as vision- 
ary, hazardous, and foolish. Now that the road 
is an accomplished fact, one easily forgets that 
its construction ever appeared impossible. It 
is the pioneer line westward from the Missouri ; 
and to-day, after escaping from its net-work of 
branches in Nebraska, extends to Denver, Chey- 
enne, and Ogden. By lease and purchase it has 
also its Pacific coast terminus, and has pene- 
trated the rich mineral fields of Montana. If 
only the early disbelievers in the Union Pacific 
could see it now, how strong would be their 
desire to hide from the gaze of the world ! 

The course of the Union Pacific from Omaha 
to Denver is through Nebraska to Denver Junc- 
tion, and thence southwest to the famous Colo- 
rado city. The river Platte is followed nearly 
the entire distance, and one is led through a 
region that is fast becoming famous for its farms 
and vast agricultural areas. 



lO SHOSHONE. 

It is often said that the plains are dull and 
monotonous. He who is alive to the beauties 
of Nature, or who is interested in whatever is 
novel, can never agree to this. Their very his- 
tory gives them interest. Some of the fiercest 
battles that the pioneers ever waged were fought 
on the ground that we too often pass over with- 
out a thought of the events of twenty years 
ago. Every inch of the way across Nebraska 
was contested. Recalling the past, I can still 
see the long trains of emigrants, bound for the 
new El Dorado ; and at night, when there are 
prairie fires to be seen, there comes vividly be- 
fore me the picture of those guarded halts of 
long ago, when smaller camp-fires were lighted, 
and men hardly dared to sleep for fear of lurk- 
ing savages watching for a chance to begin their 
work of murder and destruction. 

Life on the plains is less hazardous to-day 
than it was before the advent of the railway; 
but I doubt if the labor of living is less severe. 
One is not very apt to give particular thought 
as to how men gain a foothold, nor to the man- 
ner in which they begin their work of making 
farms out of the duU-hued prairie land. And 
yet the modus operandi might very likely be 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. IT 

studied with advantage. The task is not an 
easy one, we may be sure, and there arc trials 
long and severe. There are many foreigners 
among the Nebraska farmers, and many of the 
new towns are German in everything but their 
appearance. That, to be frank, is American and 
Western ; not interesting to look at, but thor- 
oughly comforting to all who may be interested 
in the growth of our country. The rapidity 
with which Nebraska villages grow is most 
astonishing. The only pity is that with age 
^nd size they do not increase in beauty. 

Early in the spring the plains are brilliant 
with carpetings of vari-colored flowers. They 
are scattered like brilliants over the vast rolling 
billows of earth, and, in contrast with the green 
of the grasses, give the country a richness of 
coloring which is indescribably attractive. As 
summer draws nearer the delicately tinted visi- 
tors of spring-time give way to an universal 
brownness. By July all freshness, and all color- 
ing save that of brown, are lost. But the blue- 
ness of the sky remains, and that, together with 
the mellow brown of the plains, gives a suffi- 
cient contrast of tint to make the scene far from 
commonplace. 



12 SHOSHONE. 

I can never decide which portion of the day 
I Hke best when on the prairies. Morning is 
dehghtfuliy fresh. The sun is a ball of fire 
when its first flashes of golden light come 
across the unbroken stretches, and the prairie 
dogs, demurely sitting on their hind legs, give 
it noisy greeting. Through the night you have 
been asleep. The dull rumble of the cars has 
soothed you to a rest such as you have not had 
for months. Waking refreshed in mind and 
body, and breathing in the fresh, clear air as 
you stand on the rear platform looking over the 
quiet country, life ceases to be a dull reality. 
You catch the spirit of the scene, and are alert. 
Then comes the long, idle day. The towns you 
pass are all in embryo. Some are more rudely 
built than others, but all are new, and each lays 
claim to distinction as being the centre of some 
reg-ion sure to attract in the future an enormous 
population. Here the railway follows a wind- 
ing stream, that now hides beneath its sandy 
bed and again crawls lazily over it, and then 
passes through fields of growing corn, or, like a 
ship, rides gallantly over the rolling mounds that 
have been so often likened to the waves of a 
noiseless sea. 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 1 3 

Nebraska may be said to have already had 
three distinct epochs in its history. The first 
was that in which the Indians held undisputed 
sway ; the second that in which the forerunners 
of the present civiHzation began to make their 
memorable overland journeys; and the third 
that of the present progress. Of the first we 
have many traditions and some tangible infor- 
mation handed down by the ultra-adventurous 
who lived for a time among the Indians and 
studied their mode of life. Of the second we 
are better informed. In that second period 
brave old Ben HoUiday had established his 
famous stage-line to and across the Rockies, 
and such observing travellers as Bayard Taylor 
and Samuel Bowles had made pilgrimages to the 
still doubtful quantity familiarly known as '* the 
West." The amount of romance crowded into 
the period immediately preceding that which 
witnessed the advent of the railways would 
make many an interesting volume. Who to- 
day can begin to realize the hardships of the 
pioneers? If ever chivalry existed in this coun- 
try, it had its reign while the emigrant trains 
were slowly traversing our Western plains. Kit 
Carson, Buffalo Bill, and other famous scouts 
have an unique place in history. 



14 SHOSHONE. 

Little can be said of the third great period of 
Nebraska's history beyond that which is already 
known. The census will show the rapidity with 
which the country is being settled ; and one has 
only to visit the region from year to year to note 
its steady progress in material development. In 
the near past Nebraska was chiefly famous as a 
grazing country. To-day it is one of the great 
farming regions of the middle West. Time was 
when the rainfall was insufficient to grow crops ; 
but now even this disadvantage no longer ex- 
ists. Year by year the rainfall increases. In 
explanation of this phenomenon — if it be a 
phenomenon — various causes are assigned : one 
theory being that moisture is attracted by cul- 
tivation of the soil; another that railroads are 
followed by rain-clouds ; another that the old- 
time hardness of the soil no longer exists, so 
that water is retained in the earth, and, evaporat- 
ing, creates clouds that formerly had no source 
of existence. Whatever the reason may be, 
however, the fact remains that Nebraska, as well 
as its neighbors, has changed for the better, and 
can no longer, by any possibility, be regarded 
as a part of the Great American Desert which 
in our childhood days was represented as cover- 
ing an alarmingly large area of our country. 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. I7 

One truth regarding it is that you do not be- 
come acquainted with its best or more interest- 
ing features by simply travelling through that 
portion of the country which the railway has 
chosen. One has passing glimpses of the many 
*' prairie towns," which are so sure an indication 
o( the actual progress being made ; and there 
are isolated " dugouts " scattered along the 
way. But the largest and most productive farms 
are mostly well away from the railroad, and 
the peculiarities of life in a country so lately 
settled as Nebraska are only discovered by 
personal investigation. Study the pioneer Ne- 
braskan, and you will not only be amused but 
instructed. His life is an altogether strange 
one, not resembling in the least that of any 
other man whose progress you have ever chanced 
to follow. His home is a dugout, or, if fortune 
has smiled upon him, an adobe, with a roof of 
sods, and his nearest neighbor lives twenty miles 
away. And yet I question if you will anywhere 
find more contentment than exists in these hum- 
ble abodes. I know not what it is, — the cli- 
mate, the hope of better times to come, perhaps, 
— but there is something which gives the home- 
steader that which few of us ever have, — the 



1 8 SHOSHONE. 

power to smile when the outlook is darkest ; a 
brave heart, no matter what the trials are. You 
will find lone women in the single-room dug- 
outs, and you will also find whole families there. 
One can never fail to detect any real progress 
in the family welfare ; for with better circum- 
stances comes the cabin, — a degree above that 
of the dugout, — and following the cabin the 
ugly but still comfortable frame house. 

Mr. Frank H. Spearman, in a paper on the 
American Desert, published in " Harper's Mag- 
azine " for July, 1888, says that the " first settler, 
with rare exceptions, ekes out a half-starved 
existence until he can make proof on his land ; 
by this time he is eager to sell to one of the 
second crop of pioneers, — men who bring a 
little money with them to fight the battle with. 
As a rule, though, the necessity of incurring 
debts to keep things going beats this second 
class, and they in turn give way to the thrifty 
farmers who come prepared and able to stay. 
For it must not be supposed that the original 
homesteader is necessarily a farmer. You will 
find all sorts and conditions of men among them, 
from ministers to cowboys, from bankrupt busi- 
ness men to the latest exile from Russia. All 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. I9 

of these, together with professional men and 
tradesmen in the villages and a fair sprinkling 
of bona fide farmers, appear in the ranks of the 
homesteaders." 

As illustrative of the rapid rate at which Ne- 
braska is now being settled, Mr. Spearman 
quotes from an address delivered at the Chey- 
enne County, Nebraska, fair in the fall of 1887. 
'' General Morrow," he writes, " instances eighty- 
three thousand acres of land entered by home- 
steaders in a single county during three months 
of 1887. All the land officers of the West tell 
the same story ; their statistics sound like fables. 
The United States Land Office for the extreme 
southwestern part of Nebraska, embracing but 
a few counties, remitted last year to Washington 
$500,000 to pay for homesteads and pre-emp- 
tion." Continuing, the writer says that Omaha, 
Kansas City, and other large centres are " simply 
a reflection of the farms of Kansas and Ne- 
braska, and are dependent entirely on the desert 
for their business." 

It is a little startling — because showing into 
what errors of prophecy our ignorance may lead 
us — to notice, as Mr. Spearman does, that in 
1858 the "North American Review" said that 



20 SHOSHONE. 

our people, at that date, when there was scarcely 
a hamlet forty miles west of the Missouri River, 
'* had already reached their inland frontier." 
Before the end of 1880 the population of Ne- 
braska numbered half a million. To-day, Mr. 
Spearman says, the State has twice that many 
people, and the cities of from three thousand to 
fifteen thousand inhabitants that have attained 
their present size within the past few years are 
evidence in themselves of the substantial devel- 
opment of the new West. 

The average altitude of the country bordering 
the Missouri River is from fifteen hundred to 
eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. 
At the base of the Rocky Mountains the eleva- 
tion has increased to nearly six thousand feet. 
The slope from mountain to river is gradual and 
hardly perceptible. You are every day con- 
scious of certain atmospheric changes and of 
the fact that the sunshine has at length become 
continuous. But no hills are climbed, and at 
a casual glance your surroundings are always 
the same. 

" Nebraska is noted for the great number of 
its sunshiny days," says the writer whom I have 
so often quoted. "The catarrhs and rheums, 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 21 

the neuralgia and the consumption, of the East 
are unknown, except such cases as were con- 
tracted elsewhere. Although in summer the 
thermometer ranges very high, sultry heat is, 
of course, an impossibility at such an altitude. 
To be perfectly comfortable in the hottest 
weather, it is necessary only to keep out of the 
direct rays of the sun ; the nights are always 
cool." The soil of the State is easily cultivated, 
and is of surprising richness. It extends to a 
great depth, and is most easily tilled. Trees are 
fast being planted in and around every new 
town, and irrigating canals have been dug to 
convey the waters of the numerous " creeks," 
or small streams, to wherever the soil needed 
moisture. The destructive Dakota blizzard 
sweeps down upon the open prairies at times, 
but such visitations are rare. As a rule the 
winters are mild and invigorating. One rarely 
feels fatigue ; and life, to those once initiated, 
has charms which we, perhaps, noting so care- 
lessly, cannot appreciate nor understand. 

It is an all-day's journey from Omaha to Den- 
ver. Leaving the former city in the morning, 
you retire at night with the consciousness that 
all around you — to the north, south, east, and 



22 SHOSHONE. 

west — there is only the rolHng prairie, brown, 
far-reaching, restful to one whose eyes are tired 
of other sights. In the morning the scene has 
changed. Before you — a dark-blue wall cut- 
ting its way north and south — are the Rockies, 
the Alps of America. Their higher peaks are 
white with snow, and glisten like pinnacles of 
purest ice. 

How beautiful they are, these mountains of 
stupendous height, how grandly outlined, of what 
overpowering size, only he who has looked upon 
them from the plains can understand. They are 
as fascinating as is, to many, the ocean. You 
long to reach them, to be near enough to study 
their contours, to see their ever-changing lights 
and shadows. In the early morning they are 
softened by a thin blue haze. They seem as 
light as air, and one doubts if the snow patches 
are not clouds. When first sighting the higher 
peaks you are forty or sixty, even a hundred, 
miles east of Denver; and yet the air is so 
clear, the distance so deceptive, that you can- 
not realize how far away you are from what you 
see. Many a worn-out pioneer, trudging beside 
his wagon with its painted sign, '' Pike's Peak or 
Bust," has thought his journey ended when the 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 23 

snow peaks first flashed their Hght upon him. 
And yet I venture to say that many a hope 
was doomed to disappointment, and that, even 
within sight of the long-sought goal, the journey 
of life was ended. 

But for us, in our Pullman, no danger menaces. 
As we look, the huge bulwarks grow more and 
more clearly outlined. Lesser peaks leap into 
view beyond the limits of the plains ; the forest- 
crowned foothills begin to lend their bit of color- 
ing to the scene. Soon the outlying towns of 
Colorado's great city are crowded about us. 
The listlessness of portions of the day before 
departs. We have crossed the plains and are 
on the outskirts of Denver. 



Chapter II. 

THE CITY OF DENVER. 

NO one would have dared claim for Denver, 
a quarter of a century ago, the proud 
position that it holds at this time. Then it was 
a mere village, without wealth, without influence, 
remote, and unsightly. Now it is a metropolis, 
a centre of refinement, a place rich in itself, and 
the admiration of all beholders. More than 
keeping pace with the phenomenal growth of 
a region that is still in its infancy, so far as 
development is concerned, it has lost no oppor- 
tunity and neglected no chance. Active, keenly 
alive, progressive, and vigorous, it has turned to 
its own account the fortunes of the State of 
which it is the capital, and has secured by every 
means in its power the reputation it to-day en- 
joys. When the history of the far West is 
written, and the causes of that growth and de- 
velopment which we now applaud are analyzed, 
it will be seen that Denver has often been the 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 2/ 

power behind the throne. Her capital and her 
people have protected new ventures, and kept 
alive the confidence in the future of the State. 
Through days of financial disaster, through all 
vicissitudes, there can be found no diminution 
of the faith that at last has been rewarded by 
the growth of a great city in close proximity to 
the region that as long ago as 1806 tempted the 
valiant Pike to cross the unknown plains lying 
beyond the muddy waters of the Missouri. 

Like a romance is the story of Colorado's 
growth, and not less so is that of the growth of 
Denver. We miss finding in its history the 
fanciful doings of Spanish adventurer and pious 
padre. No fierce wars were ever waged for 
its possession, no glittering pageants were ever 
held in the long wide streets, with their vista of 
mountains and plains. There was little that was 
poetical, but much that was practical. Still the 
story is as interesting as though there had been 
these well-worn episodes to draw upon and to 
magnify and render picturesque ; for the tale 
is of how man came to a wilderness and lived 
down all trials and all disappointments, how he 
fought against great odds and battled with hard- 
ships, and came out victorious. And if we are 



28 SHOSHONE. 

not satisfied with the practical reaHties pre- 
sented, and still desire some glitter of gold to 
lighten the narrative, we have but to turn to 
the mountains. In their wild fastnesses will 
be found the foundation of all the romance we 
wish. 

It is not an easy matter to describe Denver. 
It is so similar to other cities in many respects, 
that one feels doubtful about the propriety or 
the necessity of mentioning many of its promi- 
nent features, and is in danger of forgetting that 
what may seem only ordinary is, in reality, most 
extraordinary. If the city were less substantial 
in appearance, or possessed certain glaring pe- 
culiarities, it would be much easier to describe. 
But it so belies its age, and seems so much 
older than it really is, that one falls to taking 
for granted that which should be surprising. 
Wide, shaded streets, handsome residences sur- 
rounded by spacious grounds, noble public 
buildings, and the many luxuries of city life 
tempt one to forget that Denver has gained all 
these excellences in less than twenty-five years. 
Every tree that one sees has been planted and 
tended ; every attractive feature is the result of 
good judgment and careful industry. Nature 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 3 1 

gave Denver the mountains which the city looks 
out upon ; but beyond those hills and the bright 
sky and the limitless plains, she gave nothing to 
the place, which one has only to see to admire. 
The site originally was a barren waste, dry and 
hilly. Never was it green, except perchance in 
early spring; and not a tree grew, save a few^ low 
bushes clinging to the banks of the river. 

Surrounded on the east, south, and north by 
the prairies, and on the west by the mountains, 
with their treasures of gold, silver, coal, iron, 
and lead, Denver is the natural concentrator of 
all the productions of Colorado. From it are 
sent forth the capital, the machinery, and the 
thousand and one other necessities of a con- 
stantly increasing number of people engaged in 
developing a new country. 

From Capitol Hill, a rounded height formerly 
on the eastern outskirts of Denver, but now not 
far from its centre, is obtained the best view of 
the city. At one's feet the contrast between 
the present and the past is most marked. Gone 
are the sanded gardens with their weeds; the 
cabins of earlier days are nowhere to be found. 
A city lies grouped around the hill. From the 
height you can look down upon the score of 



32 SHOSHONE. 

church steeples and the flat roofs of business 
blocks ; and in the distance lie the plains, no 
longer dry and brown, but dotted with farms 
and the bright new houses of those who have 
come to the West and accepted it as their 
home. 

Denver was born of the first Pike's Peak gold 
excitement in 1858-59, and in i860 was a strag- 
gling camp of log-cabins and tents. P'rom this 
time the population of what is now Colorado 
rapidly increased. In August, i860, there were 
as many as sixty thousand people engaged in 
mining, and one hundred and seventy-five 
quartz-mills had been erected, at a cost of 
$1,800,000. Denver during this era became 
the acknowledged base of supplies. The camp 
was centrally located, and was, moreover, a sta- 
tion on the Ben Holliday route across the conti- 
nent. When the mining excitement subsided, 
as it had by 1865, Denver was too firmly estab- 
lished to be materially affected by the change 
in the fortunes of the State. Its population, 
indeed, was considerably larger than when the 
excitement ran highest. While many of the 
districts failed to meet expectations, there were 
a few that proved richer than had been antici- 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 33 

pated. Among these was the Clear Creek terri- 
tory, forty miles west of Denver. The towns, or 
camps, in that district continued to hold their 
own, and were the main-stay of the settlement 
near the junction of Cherry Creek and the 
Platte. To Central City, Black Hawk, and 
Georgetown, Denver may be said to owe its 
continuance during that period when the future 
of Colorado was most uncertain. Had they 
failed, and the mines there proved unproductive, 
it may well be doubted if Denver could have 
maintained its existence. 

" The Queen City of the Plains," as the Den- 
verites fondly call their much-admired city, has 
not escaped its trials. In 1873 the financial 
shadow in the East swept to it across the plains, 
and in 1875 and 1876 the grasshopper plague, 
by which all crops were destroyed, caused large 
sums of money to be drawn from Denver to pay 
for wheat and flour. The banks were seriously 
cramped during this unfortunate time, and all 
speculation ended. But the failures were un- 
important, and the faithful only worked the 
harder to prove that Colorado was the centre of 
vast v/ealth. 

In 1877 the cloud lifted. The harvest was 
3 



34 SHOSHONE. 

abundant, the export of beeves was the largest 
ever known. More than $ 1 5 ,000,000 was added 
to the wealth of the miners, stockmen, and farm- 
ers. Speculation revived. Money became easy, 
and confidence wide-spread. Capital poured 
into the State, and there was a development of 
industries never known before. Leadville was 
born, and he who had a dollar to invest sought 
Colorado securities. Railways fought for right 
of way to mining towns, and the plains were 
dotted with wagon trains. For nearly six years 
the excitement continued ; and Denver, through 
all the activity alive to her own interests, which 
she carefully guarded and nourished, throve as 
never before. 

And then, in 1883, came the inevitable reac- 
tion. The pulse of trade and speculation had 
beat too rapidly. Some ventures failed, and 
others were abandoned because of these failures. 
The reckless suddenly became conservative. In- 
vestors hesitated to invest. Loans were called, 
and a depression of values followed. But con- 
sidering the advance that had been scored, the 
retrograde movement was immaterial. In the 
language of the stock exchanges, it was a 
" healthy reaction," and eventually did more 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 35 

good than harm. It enabled men to rest and 
to study the situation. 

By the end of 1886 confidence slowly re- 
turned. In that year the State again entered 
upon a season of prosperity; and in sympathy 
Denver's sun shone once more, and its clouds 
were dispersed. By January, 1887, the tide 
had perceptibly turned. The activity in com- 
mercial circles became greater than ever. Old 
valuations were more than re-established, and 
the population was nearly seventy thousand. 
It was found that the mines had produced a 
grand total of over $26,000,000 in 1886, and 
therefore mining received a new impetus. In 
1885 permits for the erection of four hundred 
and three new improvements in Denver were 
issued by the Building Inspector; in 1886 he 
issued seven hundred and nine permits, the 
cost of the improvements being $2,000,661. 
In 1885 the total valuation of the State was 
$115,450,193.90; in 1886 it was $124,269,710.06; 
and in 1887 amounted to $141,314,329, the 
greatest gain being in Arapahoe County. Among 
the banks of Denver the year 1886 showed that 
the surplus funds and undivided profits had 
decreased $128,945.26 as compared with 1885, 



36 SHOSHONE. 

while the deposits had increased $2,107,633.02, 
or twenty-three per cent. The loans and over- 
drafts had also increased twenty-three per cent. 

The welcome facts, giving assurance of prog- 
ress, and showing a more healthy condition of 
affairs in the various trades and mercantile in- 
stitutions, afforded a promising outlook for the 
new year. Nor, as it proved, were the signs 
premature or misleading. The real-estate sales 
for 1887 amounted to $29,345,451.82, an in- 
crease of $18,324,242.91 over those for 1886. 
Six churches, three school-houses, nearly nine 
hundred dwellings, several new business blocks, 
and thirty-five miscellaneous buildings were 
erected. The total value of improvements in 
the city proper was $2,971,770, and for Denver 
and its suburbs was nearly $5,000,000. 

It would be untrue to say of Denver that it 
was " literary to the core," or that it was the 
'* Athens of the West." So far as I know, it 
never claimed such distinction. It is not a lit- 
erary centre, and yet it does not want for litera- 
ture. A lecture on " Burns " might not prove 
so attractive as one on ''Our Mines" or "Our 
Commerce ; " but because this is so the infer- 
ence need not be drawn that a Denverite never 



THE CITY OF DENVER 



37 



reads, or that he does not know who Bobby 
Burns was. The people of Denver have not yet 
gotten over being practical. There never has 
been a Browning craze, and Oscar Wilde was 
caricatured in the streets. There are ripe schol- 
ars and diligent readers in Denver, as in other 
places of equal size. Indeed, the claim is made 
that there are more resident college graduates 




mjjtj ^\ip-(;, ']^4jji 



l^'M ^'•■^-ikS-i 



THE STATE CAPITOL. 



than in any other city of the same number of 
people. Therefore one may be safe in believing 
that the literary sense is keener than would casu- 
ally appear to be the case. And yet in the 



38 SHOSHONE. 

sense that Boston is literary Denver is not. 
Perhaps in the daily papers there is evidence at 
times of a lack of careful attention to Addison. 
But when it comes to news-gathering, let the 
journals of the East beware. The history of the 
world's doings is laid beside the plate of every 
Denverite in the morning, and no question of the 
day is too profound for the editor to discuss. 

Denver has not yet become so literary as to 
warrant the establishment of large publishing 
houses, but there are several wholesale and re- 
tail bookstores, and in one is a list of books as 
large as may be found in any New York book- 
store. This fact is not, perhaps, important in 
itself, but as evidence of the moral and intel- 
lectual growth of the city, it is. Denver is young 
in years, let us remember, and is the outcome of 
a place having little regard for things of a book- 
ish nature. It is natural that many crudities 
should have been buried with the pioneers, and 
yet it is no less praiseworthy that Denver should 
so generally have accepted the more modern 
conditions of life. 

Socially, Denver may be called a charming 
place. The security afforded by the active en- 
forcement of good laws has drawn together a 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 39 

class of people such as is found in towns of a 
much more prosaic origin and greater age. 
Society, in the truest sense of the word, is cos- 
mopolitan. There are constant arrivals and 
departures. No titled foreigner feels he has 
seen the " States " if he omits Denver, and our 
own countrymen endeavor to visit the city during 
their tour of the West. People of refinement 
make Denver their home for a season, and often 
adopt it for a lifetime. It is astonishing at times 
to notice the effect of Western life upon natures 
long accustomed to self-contemplation and es- 
teem. It is the air of Colorado, perhaps, that 
so often changes the Eastern man, and leads 
him to appreciate the truth of the phrase regard- 
ing general equality which the signers of the 
Declaration framed. Or, if not this, then some- 
thing else works the transformation, and gives 
us most fortunately a whole-souled being who is 
glad to see you when you pay him a visit, and 
who does all in his power to render your stay 
delightful. 

It must not be imagined, however, that with 
all the good-fellowship there is not the proper 
amount of conservatism. One is not waylaid 
upon the street and presented with the freedom 



40 SHOSHONE. 

of the houses he sees. Shoddyism exists, — as 
where does it not? — and there is a manifest 
dehght in certain quarters to make a lavish 
display of newly acquired wealth. But circles 
within the circle may be found, and those with 
the shortest diameter are the most agreeable as 
well as the less conspicuous. Proper presenta- 
tion means as much in Denver as it does in 
New York or Boston. 

The three great industries of Colorado — 
mining, agriculture, and stock-raising — are 
those from which Denver derives its chief sup- 
port. As a mining region, Colorado has made 
an enviable record. The total yield of the State 
in gold and silver now exceeds $200,000,000. 
It is estimated that one hundred thousand lodes 
have been discovered, besides numerous placers. 
Silver was not found until 1 870, but in 1886 the 
yield of that metal amounted to $16,450,921. 
Among the ores produced are gold, tellurium, 
copper, iron, and lead. At Denver is made 
much of the machinery used at the various 
camps, and to its furnaces and smelters is 
shipped a large proportion of the precious ores. 
Shipments from the Boston and Colorado Smelt- 
ing Works at Argo, on the outskirts of Denver, 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 41 

amounted in 1887 to $3,767,685, and those 
from the Omaha and Grant Smelter in 1886 to 
$8,053,143. Still another smeltini^ company 
has been formed, which uses every modern 
appliance and improvement. These three con- 
cerns make Denver the largest smelting point 
outside of Leadville, and afford employment to 
a small army of men. 

As an ore market, Denver is important. For 
1887 there were 15,806 car-loads of ore re- 
ceived in the city. Allowing 13^ tons to each 
car, the daily receipts amounted to 584 tons. 
The deposits at the Mint during 1887 had a 
value of $1,843,891.90, — a gain over 1886 of 
twenty-eight per cent. The modern practice 
of buying and selling ore through men known 
as public samplers is constantly growing in 
favor. The Denver Public Sampling-Works 
handled and sold in 1886 over 44,000,000 
pounds, or nearly 22,000 tons, as against 13,433 
tons in 1885. The value of the ore sold in 1886 
was $1,243,360.84, — an average of $56.59 per 
ton. The ore which is received comes not only 
from Colorado, but from New Mexico and old 
Mexico, Montana, Arizona, Idaho, Oregon, Ne- 
vada, and even from South America. 



42 SHOSHONE. 

Agriculture in Colorado is comparatively in 
its infancy. Not until later days has the indus- 
try been given much attention. Now, however, 
by a system of irrigation that renders long-neg^ 
lected lands productive, it is fairly launched. 
The area of farming land has been widely ex- 
tended. Immense tracts of government land 
have been put under water and cultivation. 
Wherever it was possible on the Arkansas, Rio 
Grande, San Juan, Dolores, Gunnison, and other 
rivers, canals for irrigation have been projected, 
and water taken out, to reclaim vast areas that 
were once considered worthless. In his sur- 
veys Professor Hayden estimated that Colorado 
contained not less than six million acres of agri- 
cultural land. From reports made by the Land- 
Office in Denver up to 1885, over four million 
acres of that amount had been taken up. In 
1885 nearly nine hundred thousand more acres 
were added, and in 1886 fully one million acres, 
thus making more than the original estimate. 
The crops for 1886 amounted to 2,100,000 bush- 
els of wheat, 600,000 bushels of oats, 250,000 
bushels of barley, and 175,000 bushels of corn. 
The total value of the agricultural products does 
not fall much below $12,000,000 annually. Seed 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 43 

is purchased at the Denver markets, agricultural 
implements are made and sold there, and the 
cereals are returned to the local flouring mills. 

The third source of Denver's revenue is from 
cattle and sheep. The herds are raised in nearly 
every part of the State, and millions of money 
are invested in the industry. For 1887 the State 
assessors estimated the number of animals and 
their valuation as follows : — 

No. Valuation. 

Horses 148,027 $5,042,480 

Mules 7,560 544.865 

Sheep 685,725 877,913 

Cattle 894.439 10,634,355 

Hogs 15,833 51,573 

Other animals 56,963 

According to other estimates there are fully 
1,500,000 sheep in Colorado, the wool clip from 
which would be not less than $1,500,000. Ex- 
act figures are hard to obtain. Cattle are be- 
ing constantly improved by the introduction of 
"blooded" stock. In 1886 there were 122,678 
cattle shipped from Colorado to Eastern mar- 
kets, as against 75,579 head shipped in 1885. 
Denver capital is largely invested in the indus- 
try, and the fortunes of many of her people have 
been made in it. The city is the chief hide. 



44 SHOSHONE. 

wool, and tallow market in the State, and sev- 
eral of the banks are founded on capital made in 
former years by the cattle kings. 

In addition to these sources of wealth Den- 
ver has her home commerce, foundries, street- 
railway systems, and list of taxable property. 
The total revenue of the city for 1886 was 
$452,648.39, the item for taxes alone being 
$301,362.42. The assessed valuation of Ara- 
pahoe County, of which Denver is the seat, was 
$11,093,520 in 1878, $38,374,920 in 1886, and 
$47,037,574 in 1887. The rate of taxation in 
that time had been reduced from 20.9 mills to 
9.7. The growth of Denver's manufacturing in- 
dustries has been rapid. For 1887 the increase 
was between twenty and twenty-five per cent. 
In 1885 the total value of the product of manu- 
factures in the city was $20,293,650; in 1886, it 
was $24,045,006, and there were 219 manufac- 
turing establishments, employing 4,056 men, the 
annual pay-roll being $2,100,998. As nearly as 
can be approximated, the statistics for 1887 will 
be as follows: number of establishments, 240; 
number of employees, 5,000; amount of wages, 
$3,000,000; value of product, $30,000,000. 

The water supply of Denver is more than abun- 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 45 

dant. In many instances water for drinking pur- 
poses is taken from artesian wells, more than a 
hundred of which have been bored since 1883. 
Some are sunk to a depth of 1,125 ^^^t. The 
first flow was struck at 350 feet, the second at 
525, the third at 555, and the fourth at 625. 
Six successful wells were bored in 1885, and 
eight in 1886. Water from these wells is de- 
liciously pure and cold, and flows from the 
faucets with sparkling brilliancy. 

For irrigation purposes water is brought by 
a system of ditches from a source twelve miles 
south of the city. For other uses it is taken 
from the Platte, and forced by the Holly system 
into every building. There are fifty miles of 
distributing mains, and the annual supply is 
seventeen hundred millions of gallons, — an aver- 
age of nearly five million gallons per day. A 
company now proposes bringing water by grav- 
ity from Cherry Creek to a reservoir overlook- 
ing the city, thus obviating the necessity of 
pumping. 

The material attractions of Denver have not 
been gained at the expense of the immaterial 
ones. The city prides itself upon its many 
churches, schools, and public buildings. Gas 



46 SHOSHONE. 

and electricity are both in use, and there is an 
extended horse-railway system that connects all 
parts of the city and reaches far into the sub- 
urbs. As a city of churches, Denver ranks next 
to Brooklyn. There are sixty-two, all told, — or 
one for every twelve hundred inhabitants. A 
new Unitarian church is being erected, which, 
with the land it occupies, will cost $55,000; 
the design is Romanesque. The Catholics pur- 
pose soon to build an imposing cathedral; a 
corporation with a stock of $50,000 has already 
been organized for a cathedral fund. St. John's 
Cathedral (Protestant Episcopal) is one of the 
prominent buildings of the city; the design of 
the crucifixion in one of the windows is said to 
be the largest in the world. 

Next to her churches, the city is proud of her 
schools. They are numerous and ably man- 
aged. School district No. i includes that part 
of Denver lying east of the Platte and Cherry 
Creek, and extends four miles down the Platte 
and several miles eastward to the plains. It is 
of an independent character, and was chartered 
before the adoption of the State constitution. 
The property has an assessed valuation of about 
$29,000,000. A special tax levy of four and a 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 47 

half mills is made for school purposes, and from 
five thousand to eight thousand children are in 
daily attendance. A new High-School and Li- 
brary building is now being erected. It will 
cost $200,000. There are fourteen schools in 
district No. i, and one hundred and twenty 
teachers are employed. 

In West Denver are five school buildings and 
nearly two thousand pupils. In North Denver 
the several institutions have an enrolment of 
about twelve hundred children. Besides the 
public schools there are the Denver University, 
soon to have new quarters ; Jarvis Hall, a 
private school for boys ; St. Mary's School, 
under the direction of the Sisters of Loretto ; 
and Wolfe Hall, an advanced seminary for 
young ladies. 

As a railroad centre, Denver is fast becoming 
as important as either Kansas City, or Omaha. 
The new Union Station is one of the largest 
and handsomest buildings in Denver. It is built 
almost entirely of native stone, and is five hun- 
dred and three feet long by sixty-nine feet wide. 
The central tower is one hundred and sixty-five 
feet high, and contains an illuminated clock. 
Two hundred thousand pieces of baggage were 



48 SHOSHONE. 

handled there in 1886, and the passenger busi- 
ness was larger than ever before. 

The railway communication which Denver has 
with the different productive districts of the 
State has been considerably extended by the 
new Colorado Midland Road, extending from 
Colorado Springs, seventy-five miles south of 
Denver, to Leadville. It passes through the 
heart of the State, and when completed beyond 
its present terminus will enter Utah, and con- 
nect there with the Utah Midland, — a proposed 
new line to the Pacific. The Colorado Midland 
now uses the newly laid track of the Atchison 
road between Denver and Colorado Springs. 
Eventually it will use that of the Denver, 
Texas & Gulf, or possibly become a part of the 
Missouri Pacific system. Still another road of 
direct benefit to Denver is the Texas, Santa ¥6 
& Northern. It connects the Rio Grande and 
the Atchison at Santa Fe, New Mexico, and 
gives Denver a nearly direct route into the 
Southwest, — old Mexico and the cities along 
the Gulf of Mexico and in Texas. The Fort 
Worth and Gulf road was finished in the spring 
of 1888. By it Denver has a broad-gauge route 
to the Gulf 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 49 

The trade of Denver for 1886, including the 
product of her manufactories, amounted to over 
$72,000,000. Of this sum the smelters pro- 
duced $10,000,000. The real-estate sales, as 
recorded, were nearly $11,000,000. Following 
the depression of a few years ago has come no 
" boom " or unwarranted advance. The sales 
for 1886-87 were large, but were the result of 
an active and legitimate demand. 

The business portion of Denver is continually 
expanding. The centre of trade in the future 
will be near the County Court-house, and event- 
ually surround that spacious structure. Lands 
that a few years ago were far outside the city 
limits are so no longer. Capitol Hill, which 
in 1882 contained not more than one or two 
houses, is now nearly covered with large and 
expensive residences. Residence streets have 
been rapidly absorbed by business interests, and 
there is a continual growth away from the old 
centre down by the junction of the Platte and 
Cherry. 

The streets, houses, and public buildings of 
Denver are most attractive. Bright-red brick and 
yellow stone are the favorite materials of con- 
struction, and the effect of this combination gives 



50 



SHOSHONE. 



the city a peculiarly pleasing appearance. The 
number of public buildings is still limited, but is 
being rapidly increased. The City Hall, Tabor 









THE OPERA HOUSE. 



Opera-house, Dufif Block, County Court-house, 
and mercantile blocks would be a credit to any 
city. The streets are not paved, and at times are 
uncomfortably muddy. In the residence quarter 



THE CITY OF DENVER. 5 1 

rows of trees line each thoroughfare, and there 
are streams of water coursing past them. In 
many cases the houses are surrounded by lawns 
and gardens. Especially is this true of those 
on Capitol Hill. 

Besides its County Court-house, Denver will 
soon have the Capitol Building. It is now be- 
ing constructed, and will cost a million of dol- 
lars. Ground for its reception was first broken 
on the 6th of July, 1886, and the foundations 
for the stone-w^ork were completed the follow- 
ing November. The Corinthian order of archi- 
tecture has been adopted, and the stone for the 
front walls will be from the sandstone quarries 
of Gunnison County. Georgetown granite will 
be used in the foundations, and other portions 
of the building will be of stone obtained from 
the quarries at Stout, in Laramie County. The 
building will be severely simple, having no 
dome or minarets, and will be three hundred 
and eighty-three feet long and three hundred 
and thirteen feet wide. It is to stand on Capitol 
Hill, and overlook the entire city and its varied 
surroundings. 

The climatic advantages of Denver, like those 
of Colorado in general, have often been de- 



52 SHOSHONE. 

scribed, and are now tolerably familiar to all. 
A clear, invigorating air, cool nights even in 
midsummer, mild days in winter, with now and 
then a season of extreme dry cold, are the chief 
characteristics of this highly favored place. One 
enjoying these blessings is loath to leave the 
city. Rarely is the sky obscured. Almost to 
a certainty one may plan for the pleasures of a 
week ahead. For sufferers from throat and lung 
troubles, Denver is a natural sanatorium ; and 
now that it has every comfort of life, and has 
become staid and conservative, it will add to 
its population every year, and tempt to itself 
those who no longer are able or willing to brave 
the discomforts of older but much less-favored 
centres. 



Chapter III. 

CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 

T)ESIDES its successful attempts to obtain 
^-^ control of the country lying south and 
west, Denver was not so blind to its interests as 
to neglect the productive territory of its north- 
western surroundings. It is this district which 
the Union Pacific controls. The country is the 
first that was developed in Colorado. The old 
placer claims there yielded fabulous sums of 
money, and to-day the mines in and around 
Georgetown have a yearly output that adds 
materially to the wealth of Colorado. 

No better illustration of this fact can be given, 
perhaps, than by taking the report of the United 
States Mint at Denver for 1886. The total op- 
erations of that concern for the year aggregated 
$1,500,000. Of this sum Colorado furnished 
$1,303,807.87, the largest producing counties 
being Boulder, with an output of $20,771.46; 



54 SHOSHONE. 

Chaffee, $65,602.81; Clear Creek, $18,575.31; 
and Gilpin, $686,793.15. They were famous 
long before Leadville was thought of, and to- 
gether form a district of vast wealth and possi- 
bilities. The Union Pacific branches give them 
all necessary transportation facilities, and the 
nearness of the Denver ore market enables a 
resident miner to dispose of his product, no 
matter how small it may be. 

The main lines of the Union Pacific system 
are the South Park and the Colorado Central. 
Both the roads are good examples of modern 
engineering, and the country which they develop 
is as interesting a bit of Colorado as you can find, 
or would wish to see. It has no end of pictu- 
resqueness, and is like an offspring of Switzerland, 
being overrun with mountains and containing a 
half score of little villages that are snugly tucked 
away among the narrow valleys which the ranges 
have formed. Passing a few days in this district 
will give one the best possible idea of what Colo- 
rado is like ; and more than this, it will enable 
him to visit some of the best-paying mines in 
the State, and to study the old placer-mining 
industry, which now, alas ! is nearing the end of 
its golden existence. 




HANGING ROCK, CLEAR CREEK CANON. 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 57 

The best-known towns of the district are 
Georgetown, Idaho Springs, Central City, Black 
Hawk, Boulder, and Fort Collins. The Union 
Pacific has extended branch lines to these sev- 
eral centres, and good hotels have been built at 
places most convenient to outlying regions of 
interest, such as Middle and Estes Parks. 

An hour's ride from Denver brings one within 
the very embrace of the mountains. For the 
first fifteen miles the country is comparatively 
level. There is a succession of farms, each with 
its fields of bright green alfalfa, and in the near 
distance are the foothills, so closely packed to- 
gether, and with the heights behind them so 
formidable in appearance, that one questions 
the ability of the railway to find an entrance to 
their protected valleys. But long before one's 
doubts are dispelled the outside world is lost to 
view. Suddenly, almost mysteriously, the gate- 
way is entered, and one is fast within the en- 
chanting region. Towering high above are the 
stupendous clifis ; near the track rushes a foam- 
ing mountain stream. The rocks are duU-hued ; 
the river is alive with light, and is as clear as 
crystal. The canon echoes with the noise of 
the on-rushing train ; and the deeper you pene- 



58 SHOSHONE. 

trate into the heart of the range, the narrower 
and more gloomy the httle pathway becomes. 

Just beyond the deepest part of Clear Creek 
Canon — as this winding road to the country 
west of Denver is called — is Idaho Springs, a 
mountain-surrounded hamlet of inviting aspect, 
and famous for its healing waters and invigo- 
rating air. Its elevation is seven thousand five 
hundred feet above sea-level, and the hot springs 
contain chemical constituents almost identical 
with those of the celebrated Carlsbad Springs 
of Germany. The waters range in temperature 
from 85° to 120° Fahrenheit, and artificial heat 
is never required. Bath-houses have been 
erected near the town, and the village is filled 
with seekers after health. 

Perhaps the most interesting feature of the 
town is the so-called " hot cavern." This strange 
formation extends far into the Santa Fe Moun- 
tain, and is filled with a vapory warmth gener- 
ated from the waters that ooze from the flinty 
walls of the gloomy recess. In the centre of 
the cavern is a large pool of heated water, in 
which one may enjoy a Turkish bath amid sur- 
roundings that, if not palatial, are at least strange 
and phenomenal. Consumptives and those 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 6 1 

whom rheumatism has afflicted flock to Idaho 
Springs by thousands. Many of the visitors, 
whose aihiients have disappeared in the place, 
are loath to leave its bracing air, and have built 
themselves picturesque little homes that do much 
toward making the town attractive. One note- 
worthy house is fashioned after a castle of the 
Rhine. Towers of stone guard its corners, and 
there are quaint gables and narrow windows. 

In the days of its early history, Idaho Springs 
was a famous mining centre. You can still see 
where the busy army of workers washed the 
earth for its golden treasures, and in the moun- 
tain sides are the tunnels that were bored when 
the excitement was at its height. Placer mining 
is no longer attempted to any extent ; but shafts 
are still sunk, and the yield of ore from mines 
near the town is not inconsiderable. 

The county seat of Clear Creek County is 
Georgetown, fifty miles west of Denver. In the 
neighborhood of this village, which rests in the 
very lap of high hills, are some of the deepest 
and richest mines in Colorado. I know of no 
place in the State where one can gain a better 
insight into the mysteries of mining than here. 
The people thrive on the industry, and the 



62 SHOSHONE. 

streets are alive with miners. From the hotel 
one can hear the noise of stamp mills, and at 
night look up at the lights which denote the 
location on the mountain slopes of the almost 
countless claims. 

A mile and a quarter beyond Georgetown is 
Silver Plume, a rich mining camp which the 
railroad has reached by means of the justly fa- 
mous " Big Loop," — an engineering achievement 
that illustrates the great progress made in later 
years by the builders of our railways. In Eng- 
land a roadbed has a nearl}' continuous level. 
In America, and especially in the West, the 
opposite is the rule. In 1852 the climbing capa- 
bilities of a locomotive were first discovered. A 
zigzag gradient often per cent — that is, ten feet 
rise in one hundred feet long, or five hundred 
and twenty-eight feet per mile — was made in 
that year over a hill about two miles long. A 
locomotive weighing twenty-eight tons on its 
drivers took one car weighing fifteen tons over 
this line in safety. The present average gradient 
is four per cent. Another invention for moun- 
tain climbing is the switch-back, b\^ which the 
gradient is eased by running the line backward 
and forward in a zigzag course, instead of making 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 6^, 

a direct ascent. The device was first employed 
more than forty years ago, and has been used 
on the Atchison and Northern Pacific Roads 
until a very recent period. 

With the improvement of brakes and other 
devices, came the development of the Loop. 
It was first applied by the Denver and Rio 
Grande Railroad, and later by the Saint Gothard 
Road, the Black Forest Railways of Germany, 
and the Semmering line in the Tyrol. The de- 
vice, as explained by a recent authority on rail- 
way construction, is to connect the two lines of 
the zigzag by a curve at the point of intersection, 
SO' that the train, instead of going alternately 
backward and forward, now runs on continuously. 
By aid of the " loop " it is possible for a line to 
return above itself in spiral form, crossing the 
lower level by either bridge or tunnel. One 
instance of this achievement is at Tehachapi 
Pass, on the Southern Pacific road in California, 
and the other is on the Union Pacific between 
Georgetown and Silver Plume. At Tehachapi 
the line ascends 2,674 feet in twenty-five miles. 
There are eleven tunnels and one spiral 3,800 
feet long. At Georgetown the direct distance 
is one and a quarter miles, and the elevation 



64 SHOSHONE. 

six hundred feet, requiring a gradient of four 
hundred and eighty feet per mile. By means 
of spirals the length of road is increased to four 
miles, and the gradient reduced to one hundred 
and fifty feet per mile. 

One need not be an expert in railway con- 
struction, however, to enjoy the ride to Silver 
Plume. Even those most utterly ignorant of 
scientific principles will find much to interest 
them. The valley is very narrow, the hills very 
high, the air most exhilarating. Ascending, the 
track lies coiled far below you ; and at Graymont, 
the actual terminus, you are high above the eight 
thousand feet level of Georgetown, and almost 
within the shadow of Gray's Peak, that beacon- 
like sentinel of the Rocky Mountains which stands 
cruard over the shaded levels of Middle Park. 

The Colorado Parks are isolated mountain 
resorts of peculiar attractiveness. In winter 
they are filled with snow, and deserted. In sum- 
mer the grasses are green on their levels, and 
the air is delightful. The Parks west of Denver 
are Estes, North, Middle, and South. Together, 
they form a region that has a beauty purely 
natural. Game abounds in the forests, and the 
streams are filled with trout. No railways have 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 65 

dared, or cared, to enter the mountain-surrounded 
and indescribably picturesque quarters, and the 
only visitors are those who come to enjoy the 
restful quiet or the abundant sport. Log-cabins 
are the rule. In them you live, and from them 
take your rides across the open fields to the 
mountains and forests. Nothing is conventional 
or prosaic. From Middle Park your view of 
Gray's Peak is unobstructed ; and from Pastes 
you can see the white crest of Long's, looking 
down from its superb height of more than four- 
teen thousand feet. So surrounded are you by 
snowy summits that you can easily forget you are 
in Colorado. The country is Switzerland, as full of 
delightful surprises and as grandly fashioned. 

Those who can, should give a month to the 
Parks and to that district in which are George- 
town and the various other settlements that the 
railway has created. There will never, I prom- 
ise, be an idle, listless day in all that time. If 
fond of climbing, you can scale Long's Peak or 
Gray's, gaining, for }'our trouble, such views as 
can only be suggested, not described; and if 
fond of hunting, you can enjoy the sport to 
your heart's content. Nature's gifts, in fact, are 
at your disposal to use how and when you will. 
5 



66 SHOSHONE. 

Nor need one forget to study during his month 
of pleasuring. The country over which he 
journeys is one of great actuaHties and many 
possibiHties. Its mines, in many instances, are 
older than Denver. In the valleys are some of 
the richest agricultural districts in the State ; 
the forests are vast and of great value. In time, 
no doubt, the iron hand of progress and de- 
velopment will be stretched forth from Denver, 
and that which now seems so isolated will be 
brought within the great circle of commercial 
activity. Places that to-day are towns are very 
likely to grow into cities. Even the Parks may 
lose their quiet and become the centres of fash- 
ionable life. The region has already yielded 
its many millions ; it will yield as many more. 
Development is still in its infancy. 

So before the great change comes let us 
gain an intimate acquaintance with this beautiful 
district. The scenery will prepare us to enjoy 
that which we shall find during our idle journey. 
It will whet our appetite for Nature's gifts. 
Drinking the healing waters, bathing in the 
mountain streams, inhaling the pure, fresh air, 
who is there that will not forget his cares? 
At Boulder or Georgetown, one is in the im- 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINCS. 6/ 

mediate neighborhood of as much wildness of 
nature as is possible to be found in Colorado. 
In half a day's drive from either town the forests 
are virgin and the valleys unmolested. 

The Colorado, or Front, Range, which is the 
first to greet the traveller approaching the city 
of Denver from the east, may easily be mistaken 
as representing the entire Rocky Mountain sys- 
tem. As a matter of fact, however, it is but one 
of three parallel chains which trend nearly due 
north and south through northwestern Colorado. 
Behind it rise the Mosquito and Sawatch Ranges, 
both having an altitude fully as great as that of 
the range overlooking the eastern plains, and 
possessing the same interesting scenic features. 

Were it not for this wise subdivision the in- 
terior districts of Colorado would be practically 
inaccessible. As it is they are easily reached 
by means of the valleys which lie between the 
several ranges, and one may wander wherever 
he pleases, either to the Parks already men- 
tioned, or to the wilder districts surrounding the 
westernmost chains. The slopes of the Colorado 
Range are deeply scored by canons similar to 
that of Clear Creek, and its streams run eastward 
to the river Platte. In the Mosquito the western 



68 SHOSHONE. 

flanks of the mountains are characterized by 
broken, abrupt, nearly perpendicular walls, from 
which open deep canons of glacial origin. On 
the eastern slopes the forests extend from the 
level of the valley to the line of perpetual snow. 
The Sawatch Range, from a geologic if not from 
a picturesque point of view, is the most interest- 
ing of all the divisions. On its rocky slopes is 
written the eventful history of the country it 
dominates. It was an island once, and the vast 
area occupied by the Mosquito Mountains and 
the Upper Arkansas Valley was the littoral re- 
gion of an Archaean continent. The Rocky 
Mountain chain in this latitude consisted, in fact, 
of a series of Archaean islands or continents, 
which have never been entirely submerged. But 
only on the Sawatch Range is the stor}- clearly 
told. 

The valley lying between the Mosquito and 
Front Ranges is knowii as the South Park. It 
is a broad, basin-like depression, and slopes 
gently to the southward. Its elevation is eight 
thousand to ten thousand feet above sea-level, 
and there are many picturesque effects to be 
enjoyed. West of South Park is the Arkansas 
River Valley, less than sixteen miles wide, but 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 69 

nearly sixty miles long. At its upper end, 
occupying an elevated site on the Mosquito 
Range, is the city of Leadville, and farther 
down the valley is the narrow gateway known 
as the Royal Gorge, or Grand Canon of the 
Arkansas. In the ant^e-railroad days the valley 
was an isolated region shut in by mountains on 
every side, and with only narrow trails as outlets 
to the country round about. To-day it is a pop- 
ulous district, famous for its natural beauty, for 
its vast mineral wealth, and as the site of the 
largest young mining city in the world. 

One of the branches of the Union Pacific 
system extends through the South Park and 
Platte River Canon to Breckenridge and Lead- 
ville, and over the Alpine Pass to the Gunnison 
country, — a Pennsylvania-like region of coal, 
wood, iron, and other natural products. Lead- 
ville has lost none of its interest since the days 
when it was famous throughout the world. It 
is still the largest mining camp in Colorado, 
and its yield of ore is fabulously great. Its in- 
dustries are on so large a scale that one may 
derive much profit, and even pleasure, in study- 
ing them. Great as the production has been, it 
promises to be still greater; and while the work 



yo SHOSHONE. 

of development is continued the city itself is 
busy grappling with the many difficulties arising 
from a growth so sudden as its own, and is 
gradually bringing order out of chaos. Many 
of the early crudities still remain, but much has 
been done to better the appearance of a place 
whose rise was almost as sudden as a thought. 
The immediate surroundings of the place, how- 
ever, are unsightly. The hills have Jost their 
forests and arc covered with smoky furnaces, 
and the outlook is upon a field shorn of what- 
ever beauty it may once have had. 

Not so, however, is the scenery through South 
Park or over the Alpine Pass. There Nature 
again asserts herself. Mountains are everywhere, 
— crowded together in the distance and lifting 
their crov/ned heads far above where you stand. 
Except in the South American Andes, the 
Alpine Pass is the highest railroad point ever 
attained. It is 11,623 feet above the level of 
the sea. At one end of the tunnel you are on 
the Atlantic slope ; at the other you are on the 
Pacific. Two years were spent in boring this 
narrow passage-way through the mountain, Op 
erations were carried on from both ends, and all 
tools and the California redwood linings were 



CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 7 1 

brought up the steep slopes over trails that 
never before had been used except by the wild 
sheep oT the elevated region. 

The best views are those just beyond the tun- 
nel, where the train, leaving the gloomy depths, 
passes out upon a narrow shelf of rock blasted 
along the perpendicular mountain-side. Timber 
line is far below ; around you lie banks of never- 
melting snow. In the far distance are the 
whitened peaks of the Gunnison country; in the 
east rise the bluish tops of the mountains over- 
looking Denver. From your elevated point of 
lookout the rivers are mere shining threads, and 
the valleys are but tiny patches of green or 
brown. 

The more one sees of Colorado, and the more 
intimately its varied attractions are known, the 
greater becomes his admiration for the Rocky 
Mountain State. You cannot dull its charm. 
The air and the light tempt one to those re- 
mote fastnesses where stand the grand creations 
of a master hand. The colorings are beauti- 
ful : the rocks red and yellow, the forests green, 
the grasses brown. Wandering at will through 
the valleys, you gain a bodily strength that 
gives you resolution to climb the highest peaks 



72 SHOSHONE. 

and take the longest rides. Life, by degrees, 
becomes ideal : you are newly created. 

I shall leave to the local guide-books the 
more specific instructions as to how one may 
reach the scenes I have here so lightly touched 
upon. Those best acquainted with the field will 
understand how much one must leave unsaid 
who attempts in a single chapter to tell of all 
there is to see. At the most, I can but suggest, 
and must leave to others that minute description 
which should be given a region so worthy of 
one's praise. Our few days of idle pleasure 
have flown like the wind ; and now, afar off, are 
tempting beauties that bid us say adieu to Den- 
ver and farewell to the snowy mounds that watch 
that city of the Western plains. 



Chapter IV. 

IN THE SHADOW OF FHvE'S PEAK. 

N EARING the State of Colorado, one might 
easily imagine that it would be a very 
simple matter to get directly into the shadow 
of Pike's Peak, which is seen rising high, white, 
and solitary above all its fellows. But the 
mountain that Lieutenant Pike named during 
his early travels in the then distant West is a 
landmark as deceptive as it is alluring. Though 
it appears very near the foothills, which are fre- 
quently visited and very accessible, it in reality 
keeps well away from them, and fortifies itself 
with a group of mountains, like the giant that 
it is. Even when one reaches Colorado Springs 
and gazes at the tall white shoulder, rising above 
the deep blue and purple hills around it, there 
are fifteen miles of space intervening, although 
one would take oath that the peak is not over 
a mile away. The clearness of the Colorado 
atmosphere is one cause of the optical delusion. 



74 SHOSHONE. 

and the other is in the mountain itself. It is so 
big and massive, high and white, that it always 
seems near one, even when a hundred miles 
away ; and the " fifty-niners," toiling slowly 
across the plains on their way to the new El 
Dorado, thought every day that on the next 
they would reach the Peak and make their 
camp at its base. 

So, when the word *' shadow" is used, it must 
be taken with limitations. One may think him- 
self in the shade of the natural beacon, but 
probably he will not be. Colorado Springs and 
Manitou are generally said to be in the shadow 
of Pike's Peak; and I have adopted the local 
phrase, though the real shadow is several miles 
away. And yet, if one does not mind a hard 
ride and a rough camp and a few hardships, 
he may rest for a day or so in the real shadow, 
or climb to the top of the Peak itself, and from 
it look down upon a good portion of Colo- 
rado, with its ranges and valleys and vast plains 
stretching far away, even as do the waters of. a 
mighty ocean. And if any one will come with 
me, afoot and horseback, into the mysterious 
regions of the Rockies, I can promise him many 
a day of enjoyment and as varied a selection of 




WW 




IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. J"] 

views and experiences as he could ^^^ct in the 
Alps or in the Apennines. And we sliall never 
lose sif^ht of Pike's Peak in all our wanderings, 
nor get far away from its shadow. 

Had one looked for Colorado Springs or 
Manitou in 1871, he would not have found 
them. The site of both w^as a desert. Where 
the one now stands was a rolling prairie, and 
where the other is were a few sulphur and 
soda springs, with now and then an Indian 
camp-fire lighting up a group of swarthy faces. 
But to-day Colorado Springs is a city of seven 
thousand people; and Manitou, while not so 
large, has a resident population of at least five 
hundred, and a floating population of several 
thousands. During the summer months the 
little mountain hamlet is overrun with visitors, 
and the scenes are as animated as those at Sara- 
toga or Newport. Many visit the place propos- 
ing to stay a week, and remain a month ; while 
those who come for a month often stay six, or 
a year. The attractions of Manitou are, first, 
its climate, and secondly, its situation. Pictu- 
resquely tucked away at the very base of Pike's 
Peak, it looks eastward, through a gap in the 
foothills, over a vast stretch of plains, brown 



78 SHOSHONE. 

and rolling, and dotted with sun-patches as the 
light is broken by passing clouds. 

In order that we may know a little better 
where we are, stand with me on the summit of 
Pike's Peak. It has been a long, hard climb, 
but what of that? We have toiled through dense 
forests, crawled along the edge of dark ravines, 
tumbled over lava-strewn fields. But after all 
the hardships, are we not repaid now, when 
we look abroad far down upon the country at 
our feet? Who minds the past exertion? One 
may complain while climbing a mountain; but 
when he stands upon the summit, with a clear 
sky above him, the air intoxicating with its 
purity, he ceases lamentations, and is mute and 
enraptured. 

For how broad the prospect, and how grandly 
beautiful ! There, toward the east, are the 
plains, stretching to the horizon, touching the 
Missouri. Westward are mountains, tossed to- 
gether in wild confusion. At our feet is Man- 
itou, its houses dwarfed, the stream near by 
a noiseless thread. Near at hand is Colorado 
Springs, looking no larger than one's hand, — a 
toy village, a mere speck upon the plains. We 
can see Denver, eighty miles away, and Pueblo, 



IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 79 

forty, and Lcadvillc, a hundred. Colorado is 
unmasked. Companion peaks to this of Pike's 
Hft their whitened heads far above the Rocky 
Range; dense masses of cloud cover some of 
the neighboring hills, or lie packed in deep 
gorges. A chill, sharp air blows upon us, while 
the sunlight scorches our faces. We are nearly 
fifteen thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
To the towns below, the distance is seven thou- 
sand feet. Every hour the colorings change. 
We are above the clouds. Nature is wild, but 
yet harmonious. Bare, sharp ledges reach to- 
ward us from the trees below; gaunt, basaltic 
rocks are piled about us. At our side mighty 
rivers have their source in tiny springs born of 
melting snow; in the distance we can see the 
streams winding through deep and narrow 
canons. There is the Ute Pass trail, lead- 
ing from Manitou up and into the mountains; 
here other paths, extending to secluded nooks, 
open invitingly before us. Noticing the shaded 
fastnesses scattered among the hills, we grow 
anxious to visit them. They are tempting bits 
of nature. Many are as wild' to-day in their 
surroundings as when their only visitors were 
the Indians. Civilization has crept to the base 



8o SHOSHONE. 

of tlic Rocky Mountains in Colorado, but onl)- 
in places has it found entrance into the heart of 
the range. 

Colorado Springs is seventy-five miles south 
of Denver. Five miles west of it, nearer the 
mountains, is Manitou. Strangely enough, the 
medicinal springs are at Manitou, and Colorado 
Springs, being a strictly temperance town, is 
obliged to look to Manitou for even the water 
which the people drink. The town was founded 
as a colony in 1871, and has enjoyed an almost 
uninterrupted prosperity. It has had its seasons 
of dulness, but as a rule has steadily gained in 
size and population, and is now one of the pop- 
ular resorts of the West. Being so easy of 
access the town is a convenient stopping-place 
for all transcontinental travellers, and is on the 
direct road to Salt Lake. Coming down from 
Denver, one follows the irregular contour of the 
Rockies, and has at all times a view of their 
brightly colored monuments of sandstone and 
of the canons that open upon the plains. 

The *' Springs," as Colorado's model town is 
familiarly called, is attractive to look at, and its 
varied charms render one's life there a pro- 
longed season of rest and pleasure. While not 



IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 8 1 

the less enjoyable as a summer residence, it is 
emphatically a winter resort, and as such is 
chiefly celebrated. Protected by the mountains 
from chilly western and northern winds, the 
weather is rarely cold, and the fall of snow is 
light. Clear, sunshiny days are the rule and 
not the exception. For weeks at a time the sky 
is cloudless and the sunshine bright and warm. 
The elevation is nearly six thousand feet, and 
the air, in consequence, is dry and bracing. 
Many have visited Colorado Springs worn out 
with the battle against consumption, and have 
lived for years to enjoy the out-of-door life 
which the place affords. 

One lives, in fact, in the open air. There are 
picnics in mid-winter in the secluded canons 
near by, and horses are cheap, so that all can 
afford to ride. The fashion of the day is to dress 
as one pleases, to ride and walk and lounge. 
The existence, indeed, is somewhat demoraliz- 
ing to a well man : he cannot work, seeing so 
many idle ; and if he does, it is by fits and 
starts. There is much that one may do for 
amusement. There are the long canters over 
the plains, brown in winter and brilliant with 
wild-flowers in the spring; the tramps to Chey- 
6 



82 SHOSHONE. 

enne Canon, a high-walled gorge made noisy by 
a brightly flowing stream that falls into the canon 
from the edge of a high, black ledge; the visits 
to ManitoLi, full of life and gayety; the long 
rides into the Parks nestled among the moun- 
tains. Nature is ever enticing, and day by day 
the town is held in higher regard. 

At first there is a feeling that the vastness 
and dryness of the surrounding country can 
never be agreeable. The plains seem ever in 
need of water; the mountains are rocky, and 
one longs to remould them into hills of living 
green ; the canons have high ledges of red and 
yellow stone, that one has an itching palm to 
soften. But soon all desire to change the 
existing order of things passes away. One 
gazes upon what is and is satisfied. It is use- 
less to attempt an analysis of the cause that 
forces one to so love these creations of Nature. 
The prosaic and the brilliant visitor are alike 
affected : men who before never noticed the 
coloring of a mountain or a ledge or a rock, 
begin to observe and speak of it when in Colo- 
rado Springs. The hues are heightened in effect 
by the clearness of the air and the brilliancy of 
the sky. When the sunlight first touches the 



IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 83 

top of Pike's Peak early in the morning, the 
snow-banks there sparkle Hke blocks of marble 
held in granite ledges, and the foothills, bare 
here and tree-grown there, are bold and hard 
and rugged. 

But after midday, when the sun begins to 
sink behind the range, all the mountains grow 
softly outlined. Where the canons are, the 
shadows are deep and dark ; while the rounded 
shoulders of the hills are a rich, warm blue. 
Many a weary eye has gazed at the Rocky 
Mountains from the little town beneath the 
shadow of the Peak, watching the ever-changing 
colors there, wondering when the soul, freed 
from its weary body, would climb the steep 
slopes and escape, over the mighty wall, into 
that '' other world ;" and many a lover, too, rid- 
ing slowly over the plains toward the towering 
fronts bathed in the liquid rays of sunset, has 
felt the magic charm of their beauty, and has 
wooed the stronger for the heart of the fair one 
riding silently at his side. The mountains that 
guard Colorado Springs have much to answer 
for. They have driven many hearts to flutter- 
ing, have opened many a pair of lips that never 
would have dared to speak. A girl should 



84 



SHOSHONE. 



never believe the story of devotion her Romeo 
tells in Colorado. His mind is affected by 



^M 




THE ANTLERS. 

the beauty of nature, 
and every object, includ- 
ing Juliet by his side, 

; ^ is glorified and made 

perfect. 
Of late years Colorado Springs has lost much 

of its olden ease and primitiveness, and has 



IN THE SHADOW OF PHvE'S PEAK. 85 

grown more fashionable. The new houses have 
too strong a suggestiveness of the Newport villas 
to be altogether pleasing to those who knew the 
" Springs " -in early days, when a stone house 
was something unknown. It must be said, how- 
ever, that they add much to the attractiveness 
of the place. From the rear balconies of these 
new abodes the mountains are seen marshalled 
in full view, and the Peak looms grandly above 
all its fellows. I doubt if a better or more 
extended prospect could be desired by any 
lover of natural scenery; and surely no street 
is so fortunate as this Cascade Avenue of the 
" Springs." 

Of course the ** Springs " has its hotels, and 
fortunately one of the many is an excellent 
tavern. Everybody knows the " Antlers." It 
was built half-a-dozen years ago by private sub- 
scription, and has always enjoyed a liberal pat- 
ronage. Its rear faces the mountains, and north 
of it are the new houses. 

Manitou, neighbor of the " Springs," and its 
" right bower," — if I may be so disrespectful as 
to designate the self-conscious little town other- 
wise than in the stereotyped phrases usually 
employed, — is very quaint, very far from pic- 



86 SHOSHONE. 

turesque in itself, and very original as a Western 
Saratoga. It clusters at and around a group of 
highly medicinal springs, which the Indians of 
Colorado were wont to visit whenever they felt 
the need of tonics, and has grown from a collec- 
tion of a few log-cabins to its present respectable 
size. Leaving the "Springs" by train, one is 
instantly aware of being conducted to a most 
remarkable place. The little engine, hauling 
its train of narrow-gauge cars, fairly hisses with 
impatience. Even the conductor is concerned, 
and is alert to impress upon you the importance 
of what you are soon to see. 

As the distance is less than five miles the 
journey soon ends; and Manitou, the great, 
stands ready to give you greeting. It lies in a 
little valley formed by the foothills, and is at 
the very base of Pike's Peak, whose luminous 
top may be seen outlined against the blue sky 
above. Not far beyond the station the hills are 
so crowded into the valley as to give the im- 
pression that none can leave the town in that 
direction, and eastward are other hills. Alto- 
gether, you feel much shut off from the outside 
world. This, indeed, is what you are expected 
to feel while at Manitou. One must never dare 



IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S TEAK. 8/ 

think of another place while there; it would 
mortally offend the people if he did. The town 
is rather unattractive, as I have mentioned. The 
houses are planted at random on the hill-sides 
and on either bank of the stream flowing down 
the valley ; and the hotels are window-studded 
monstrosities that do not make the slightest at- 
tempt at conformity with their surroundings. 
On our arrival the station platform was covered 
with hotel porters, excited, of course, and mak- 
ing one deaf with their cries ; and near by were 
open carriages into which we entered, and were 
driven rapidly up the one main street of the 
town to the hotel we had chosen. It was all 
very like Saratoga, or Nice, or Napa, or Santa 
Barbara; and the number of darkies constantly 
suggested sleepy St. Augustine or sandy Jack- 
sonville, in Florida. 

If the local guide-books may be trusted, one 
has but to visit Manitou to gain eternal life. 
The air, one can truly say, is delicious. To 
many the waters are delicious, too. Not being 
ill I have always refrained from tasting them. 
The local belief is that they will cure such slight 
annoyances as blood-poisoning, rheumatism, dia- 
betes, and derangements of the liven I have no 



88 



SHOSHONE. 



doubt they will, if indeed there is efficacy in any 
natural waters. Famous chemists have tested 




A SPRING HOUSE. 



these at Manitou, and, for a consideration, have 
pronounced them equal to any of the European 



IN THE SHADOW OF PHvE'S PEAK. 89 

springs. Visitors gather at the fountains and 
copiously imbibe, evidently sure that quantity, 
if not quality, will gain for them the desired 
relief. The fact that the Utes were believers in 
the Manitou waters is to me their strongest rec- 
ommendation. An Indian is not easily imposed 
upon, and the public is. Not that I think the 
public has been imposed upon at Manitou. Too 
many cures have been effected to leave much 
doubt regarding the curative properties of the 
springs. They are wonderful ; and, better yet, 
they are abundant. And Manitou, having them, 
is doubly blessed ; for with them she has her 
climate and her surroundings, which, once enjoy- 
ing, one never forgets. 

To recall Manitou and not the " Garden of the 
Gods " is impossible. The two are inseparably 
connected in one's thoughts. ** H. H.," whose 
home was once at Colorado Springs, and whose 
grave is on Cheyenne Mountain, called the Gar- 
den a '' symphony in yellow and red." The 
place is a fantastic creation. It lies between 
the Springs and Manitou, and is a hill-guarded 
retreat crowded with strangely fashioned rocks 
of red, gray, and yellow sandstone. The gate- 
way to the Garden is formed by two sharp- 



90 SHOSHONE. 

edged ledges rising abruptly from the ground 
and approaching each other like the prows of 
gigantic ships. They are of bright-red sand- 
stone, much worn by time and weather. Between 
them runs the roadway. One of the cliffs is 
three hundred feet high, and the other slightly 
more than this. 

A short distance from the gateway, looking 
through w^hich one sees into the Garden and 
beyond it to Pike's Peak, is another ledge ris- 
ing like a slab of stone from the ground, whose 
color is a brilliant yellow. The contrast be- 
tween the red and yellow is odd and striking, 
yet prepares one in a measure for the scenes 
beyond. Passing the gate one is in the Garden. 
Westward, at the end of a circular enclosure 
sloping gradually into the valley leading to 
Manitou, are the mountains, blue now in the 
distance and guarded by Pike's Peak, while all 
around are red and yellow masses of rock, scat- 
tered about in wild confusion and carved by 
Nature into strange, weird shapes. Here a pillar 
of red sandstone strongly resembles a headless 
giant ; here a yellow pinnacle bears the likeness 
of a man with his hat set jauntily on one side, 
and his nose of huge proportions. There are 



IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 9 1 

pulpits and castles, domes and animals, while 
the colorings are as varied as the figures. By 
moonlight the place is doubly weird, and yet is 
strangely fascinating. In the uncertain light of 
night every object is softened ; but yet the fig- 
ures are more real, and one seems lingering in a 
garden filled with departed heroes of gigantic 
frame. 

The popular recreation at Manitou is riding. 
Many ride who evidently never rode before. It 
is not a question where one shall go ; it is rather 
how he shall find time to see all there is to see. 
There are the passes leading into the range and 
through the forests; Glen Eyrie, the romantic 
nook w^here General Palmer has built his castle- 
like house ; Crystal Park, set in a verdant ravine 
among the foothills ; and Ute Pass, the old-time 
path by which the Indians came down to the 
valley from their mountain home. In early 
spring the air of the Pass is heavy with the per- 
fume of myriads of wild-flowers, while at all 
times the pines send forth a delightful fragrance. 
The trail to Crystal Park is steeper than the Pass, 
and is not wide enough for carriages. In places, 
indeed, there is barely width enough for a single 
horse to pick his way. Climbing higher every 



92 SHOSHONE. 

minute, the way at last leads out of the forests 
to where patches of snow lie among ledges of 
rock, and past the brink of deep valleys, far 
down in the bottom of which rush angry streams. 
And when the Park is reached at last, one finds 
cool shade, and there is an extended prospect of 
the plains. 

But did I not say so? Here we have been 
wandering about the base of Pike's Peak, seem- 
ingly ever near the great white cone, and still 
not once within its shadow. And are w^e never 
to get there? Well, possibly. We can, if we 
wish; but the way is long, the path is rough. 
But if hardship is not feared, let us go. Riding 
out of Manitou past the Iron Spring, our course 
leads at once into the midst of a thick forest. 
The path we follow winds in serpentine course 
among the tall trees and by the side of moun- 
tain streams. Onward we go, and ever upward, 
and at last are out of the forests and picking 
our way over a barren waste, above which rises 
the Peak. Now we are in the shadow of the 
monarch ; now we can see how deep the gorges 
are that run down from the summit, and how 
deep the snows are that glitter so brightly in 
the strong sunlight. How alone we are ! From 



IN THE SHADOW OF PHvE'S PEAK. 



93 



where we stand the silence is unbroken save by 
the whistHng of the sharp winds as they howl 




ON THE ROAD TO PIKE'S PEAK. 

about us. In ages past some terrible earthquake 
has heaved the rocks into the confusion now 



94 SHOSHONE. 

existing. There could not be greater disorder. 
The granite bowlders are tossed into every con- 
ceivable position, while here and there are deep 
gulfs into which we dare not look. As we move 
along toward the summit of the Peak the sun 
scorches our faces, but the wind is cold and 
biting. The progress is slow and tedious ; but 
our ponies are well trained and careful, knowing 
as well as we do where a misstep would send 
them. 

But at last, crossing the lava-strewn hills gath- 
ered around Pike's Peak, we cross the snow 
region and gain the summit. We have been in 
the shadow, and now have escaped from it and 
look down upon it. From where we stand we 
can see the black shadow of the Peak creep- 
ing slowly but surely over the surrounding foot- 
hills, over the forests, over the bare rough 
ledges. But before it reaches Manitou down 
there in its narrow valley, the night has come 
upon us, the air grows cold even in mid-August, 
the stars shine like diamonds in the clear 
heavens, and the shadow of Pike's Peak is seen 
no more. 



Chapter V. 

THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 

IT is literally through the heart of Colorado 
that one is led who patronizes the Rio 
Grande Road between Denver and Salt Lake 
City. The line is a most remarkable one, in 
many respects, and in its early days was sur- 
prisingly active and ambitious. When Leadville 
was discovered and became the objective point 
of Colorado Roads, it waged a fierce war with 
the Atchison for the right to run through the 
Grand Canon of the Arkansas, and gained its 
end. Then, in after-years, it rapidly formed a 
net-work of lines over the most promising sec- 
tions of the State, and at last pushed westward 
across the mountains to the valleys of Utah. 

To-day the Rio Grande is one of the great 
transcontinental routes, and because of its attrac- 
tive scenery is in great favor among all trav- 
ellers in the middle West. What one may see 
in going from Denver or Colorado Springs 



96 SHOSHONE. 

to Salt Lake City would take a volume to de- 
scribe. On no other road in the country is there 
to be found so much of scenic interest. The 
road cuts its way through deep, gloomy canons, 
climbs high mountains, winds through narrow 
valleys, reaches seemingly impossible heights, 
and in the end follows the peaceful Jordan River 
to the city of Mormon faith. 

From Colorado Springs the course of the Rio 
Grande is due south along the face of the Rock- 
ies, to Pueblo, a busy city of recent growth 
and more important as a commercial centre 
than it is attractive to the eye. From here the 
line is westward, and keeping within sight of the 
Arkansas River plunges at last into the Grand 
Canon, through which the turbulent mountain 
stream cuts its way. You cannot well describe 
this Royal Gorge, as the canon is called in the 
guide-books of the road ; for in reality it is in- 
describable. You may not appreciate its gran- 
deur, its awful sublimity, at first. Very likely 
you will not. Acquaintance renders it more and 
more impressive ; at first it does not seem so 
remarkable as it really is. 

As a fact, however, the narrow, twisting defile, 
hemmed in by abruptly rising cliffs of solid. 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 97 

dark-colored rock, is the deepest and naturally 
most impassable canon which any railway in 
the world has ever attempted to penetrate. It 
varies from one thousand to two thousand five 
hundred feet in depth, and even now, after many 
obstructions have been removed, has barely 
width enough for the passage of the river and 
train. Formerly it was absolutely impassable 
except one, at times, took to the river. But 
when it was decided that Leadville must be 
reached man set about the work of widening the 
narrow places and removing the obstructing 
ledges. Daring workmen lowered themselves 
into the pass from the cliffs above, placed their 
explosives, and then, with scarcely time to get 
away, waited for the moment to come when the 
rocks would be shattered. The road through 
the gorge was built, and when finished was the 
marvel of the age, and the admiration of en- 
gineers ; for it extends into the very depths. 
Its pathway is often sunless, forever wrapped in 
gloom. The cliffs shut out the light of day, and 
the loud rumble of the river, lashed into foam, 
fills the place and echoes from wall to wall. 
The gorge is like an entrance to some infernal 
region, — full of Rembrandt shadows, treeless, 
7 



98 SHOSHONE. 

harsh, and wild. High above you see the deep- 
bhie Colorado sky; at your side is the river; on 
either hand the cliffs, high, unbroken, the sum- 
mits capped with pinnacles, the lower walls 
smooth and bathed with the gleaming damp- 
ness of hidden springs. 

For an hour or more the road runs through 
this strange, weird chasm, this uncanny channel 
deep-set among the hills of the Rocky Moun- 
tains. Then, leaving the place as suddenly as 
it was entered, a wider valley is reached. You 
are well up among the mountains, and after your 
detour southward are nearly due west of Den- 
ver and well on the way to Salt Lake. In the 
distance are passing visions of mountains; 
some snow-capped, others with brown slopes 
and forest-crowned tops. Valleys are every- 
where, and of varying width and length. Fol- 
lowing one there are glimpses of others. In 
some are cattle, feeding; in others flat-roofed 
cabins or diminutive settlements. The air is 
delicious, cooled as it is by the snow on the 
mountains and rarefied by the elevation you 
have attained. 

At Salida, not far beyond the Grand Canon, 
the Rio Grande branches, one line extending to 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 99 

Leadville and the other passing westward .beyond 
Poncho Springs toward Marshall Pass, — still 
another of those scenic features which give the 
road its well-deserved reputation. As you ad- 
vance, the busy puffing of the two engines tells 
the story of the high grades they are working to 
overcome. The path is narrow, the surround- 
ing mountains are high, and at last, defying, so 
you say, all further progress, rises a vast mound 
which is eleven thousand feet high. 

Now for hours comes the tug of war. The 
road lies in coils on the mountain-side, track 
above track, and the grade so steep that the 
nervous are afraid. Half-way to the top the 
prospect broadens. Far away, their peaks ex- 
tending southward to the San Luis Valley, are 
the Sangre de Christo Mountains, their whiteness 
outlined in bold relief against the background of 
wooded hills. Then follow other curves and still 
steeper grades, and at last the summit is reached. 
You are on a water-shed of the country. On 
the one hand is the Atlantic, on the other the 
Pacific slope. Patches of winter snow lie in 
the crevices among the dark, basaltic rocks ; 
the trees are bent by fierce winds ; the height is 
as weird and uncanny as that of the Brocken. 



lOO SHOSHONE. 

West of Marshall Pass is the Gunnison coun- 
try. Looking down upon it you can count its 
hills and valleys, and can trace the course of 
Tomichi Creek, which, born at your side, flows 
down the mountain-side through the forests and 
thence into and along the valley that, later on, 
you yourself pursue on your fascinating journey. 
It is very extended, this prospect which Marshall 
Pass commands. You are above the world of 
man ; below you are mountain-tops and dense 
forests. The view is very beautiful, all fair and 
natural. No towns are to be seen. The forests 
are green on the hill-sides and in the valleys. 

Gunnison City, the metropolis of the county 
whose name it bears, stands in the centre of a 
vast circular basin surrounded by hills, which in 
turn are guarded by mountains. To the north 
of the city is Crested Butte, famous for its coal 
deposits ; and beyond it are the mining districts 
of Ruby and Irwin. If you have time, give a 
week or more to the several camps of these dis- 
tricts. You will be well repaid. There is a 
railroad to Crested Butte, but beyond there you 
travel by stage or on horseback, the roads lead- 
ing over the mountains to a region full of inter- 
est. If of a practical nature, you will study the 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 10 1- 

mines and the work of mining. If not practical, 
— if a sportsman or a naturalist, — you will find 
infinite amusement, unlimited opportunities for 
enjoying quiet forests and fast-flowing streams 
and views of mountains piled together in inde- 
scribable confusion. Does a ride of ten miles 
tire you now? Is your vitality exhausted? If 
so, remain a month in the Ruby or Irwin dis- 
tricts, and you will not know you ever were so. 
The air is a tonic ; the scenery an inspiration. 
You can fish and hunt and live out of doors to 
your heart's content. Nothing is conventional; 
all is novel. 

Beyond Gunnison the railway traverses the 
valley of the same name, closely following the 
Gunnison River and encountering nothing but 
meadows and low, grayish cliffs. Soon, how- 
ever, the channel of the river becomes narrower. 
The cliffs are higher and steeper, the vegetation 
is less abundant, and suddenly the sunlight is 
cut off by broken summits, and the Black Canon 
of the Gunnison holds one in its grim embrace. 
It is grander and often deeper than the Royal 
Gorge. It is thrice as long, but has more ver- 
dure; and although the walls are dark-hued 
enough to give the place its name, still they are 



I02 SHOSHONE. 

of red sandstone in many places, and from their 
crevices and on their tops shrubs, cedars, and 
pinons grow in rich abundance. The river has 
a deep sea-green color, and is followed to 
Cimarron Creek, up which the road continues, 
still through rocky depths, to open country 
beyond. 

The Black Canon never tires, never becomes 
commonplace. Here a waterfall starts from a 
dizzy height, is dashed into fragments by lower 
terraces, and, tossed by the winds, reaches the 
river in fine white spray ; there another cataract 
leaps clear of the walls, and thunders unbroken 
upon the ground beside us. In the cliffs are 
smaller streams, which trickle down and are lost 
in the river below. At times the canon narrows, 
and is full of sharp curves, but again has long, 
wide stretches, which enable one to study the 
steep crags that tower heavenward two or three 
thousand feet. Currecanti Needle, the most 
abrupt and isolated of these pinnacles, has all 
the grace and symmetry of a Cleopatra obelisk. 
It is red-hued from point to base, and stands 
like a grim sentinel, watchful of the canon's soli- 
tudes. At the junction of the Gunnison and the 
Cimarron a bridge spans the gorge, from which 




CURRECANTI NEEDLE, BLACK CANON. 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 105 

the beauties of the canon are seen at their best. 
Sombre shades prevail ; the streams fill the space 
with heavy roars, and the sunlight falls upon the 
topmost pines, but never reaches down the dark- 
red walls. Huge bowlders lie scattered about; 
fitful winds sweep down the deep clefts; Nature 
has created everything on a grand scale ; detail 
is supplanted by magnificence, and the place 
appeals to one's deepest feelings. Long ago 
the Indians of the region built their council fires 
here. By secret paths, always guarded, they 
gained these fastnesses, and held their grave 
and sober meetings. The firelight danced across 
their swarthy faces to the cliffs encircling them. 
The red glow lit the massive walls, the surging 
streams, and clinging vines. The Indians may 
not have known the place had beauties, but they 
realized its isolation ; and fearing nothing in its 
safe retreat, spoke boldly of their plans. 

Emerging from the Black Canon, the railway 
climbs Cedar Divide. From here the Uncom- 
pahgre Valley, its river, and the distant, pic- 
turesque peaks of the San Juan are within full 
sight of the traveller. Descending to the valley, 
and following the river past Montrose, the Gun- 
nison is again encountered at Delta. Thence 



I06 SHOSHONE. 

traversing the rich farming land of the Ute res- 
ervation, the road passes through the lower 
Gunnison Caiion, with its varied and attractive 
scenery, to Grand Junction, where it enters 
Grand River Valley. The space of over one 
hundred miles intervening between the Grand 
and Green Rivers resembles a billowy desert ; 
and while the most uninteresting part of the 
route, is far from dreary or monotonous. Close 
by on the north are the richly colored Book 
Cliffs, while away to the southward the snowy 
groups of the Sierra la Sal and San Rafael 
glisten in the distance. Between them may be 
distinguished the broken walls which mark the 
Grand Canon of the Colorado, scarcely fifty 
miles away. 

The belt of country lying between the merid- 
ian of Denver and the Pacific, and between the 
thirty-fourth and forty-third parallels, has been 
divided by Major Powell into geologic provinces, 
each distinguished by characteristic features. 
The easternmost he calls the Park Province. It 
lies in Central and Western Colorado, and ex- 
tends north to Wyoming and south to New 
Mexico. The next province westward is the 
Plateau, occupying a narrow strip of Western 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 10/ 

Colorado, a similar strip of Western New Mexico, 
a large part of Southern Wyoming, and rather 
more than half of Utah and Arizona. Still west 
of the Plateau Province is the Great Basin, cov- 
ering Western Utah, the whole of Nevada, and a 
small portion of Oregon and Idaho. The Grand 
Canon district is a part of the Plateau Province. 
Nearly four fifths of its area of thirteen thousand 
square miles is in Northern Arizona. The other 
fifth is in Southern Utah ; and it is this remain- 
ing portion which lies w^ithin sight of the point 
at which the Rio Grande Road crosses Green 
River and turns toward the mountains overlook- 
ing the Great Basin. 

It is difficult to form the slightest conception 
of the general features of the Plateau Province. 
The region is one of tables and terraces, of 
buttes and mesas, of cliffs and canons. In its 
coloring all gentler tints are lost, and in their 
place are belts of brilliant yellow, red, and white, 
intensified by alternating belts of gray. The 
brilliantly colored cliffs stretch in tortuous course 
across the land in all directions, and the canons 
form a labyrinth of interlacing gorges from five 
hundred to six thousand feet deep, which lead 
down to the chasm of the Colorado and to the 



I08 SHOSHONE. 

cailon of its principal fork, the Green River. 
Standing upon any elevated spot where the 
radius of vision reaches out fifty or a hundred 
miles, one beholds a strange spectacle. The 
sculpture of the canon walls and of the cliffs is 
very wonderful. There is an architectural style 
about it which must be seen to be appreciated. 
The resemblances to architecture are real and 
vivid, and cause one to question whether the 
creations can be those of the blind forces of 
Nature. Even the most experienced explorers 
are filled with amazement by the apparition of 
forms as definite and eloquent as those of art. 

The dividing barrier of the Plateau Province 
is the Uinta Range, which trends east and west 
and projects from the eastern flank of the Wa- 
satch Mountains to the Park Ranges of Colorado, 
— a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. At 
its southern base is the arid desert which the 
Rio Grande traverses, and across which Green 
River flows. That portion of the province lying 
north of the Uinta Mountains is a celebrated 
field for the study of the Cretaceous strata and 
the Tertiary lacustrine beds, but otherwise is un- 
attractive. The country to the southward, how- 
ever, has the sublimest scenery on the continent. 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. IO9 

Its surrounding ranges are from nine thousand 
to twelve thousand feet high, and the altitude of 
the region itself varies from five thousand to 
seven thousand feet. From Green River cross- 
ing you can faintly see the outlines of the cliffs 
and buttes that rise above the canons which the 
Colorado and its tributaries have worn through 
the very heart of the old ocean bed. Were we 
to follow the river, winding lazily past, it would 
lead us to the flaming gorges and lose us in the 
channels that are so weird and yet so beautiful. 
Geologists who have traced the course of many 
of the canons, and who have entered that of 
the Colorado, longest and grandest of all, have a 
strange story to tell. To them the Plateau is 
an open book, the cliffs being the pages on 
which is written the history of the region. In 
his report on the Canon district Captain C. E. 
Button gives an exhaustive description of its 
geologic features and history. From the begin- 
ning of the Carboniferous period to the close of 
the Cretaceous, the province accumulated nearly 
fifteen thousand feet of strata. At the close of 
the latter period important changes occurred. 
The marine area of former days became a lacus- 
trine one, and for a time Eocene lacustrine strata 



no SHOSHONE. 

were deposited over a greater part of the sur- 
face. Then new displacements began by faulting, 
flexing, and upheaving, draining the lacustrine 
area and forming a river system, the configura- 
tion of which was determined by the form of the 
emerging surface. The new-made land was at- 
tacked by the atmospheric agencies of degrada- 
tion. The present Grand Canon of the Colorado 
dates its origin from the close of the Miocene 
period. Prior to that time the river was engaged 
in cutting through eight thousand to ten thou- 
sand feet of strata. The excavation of the 
present chasm is the work of the Pliocene and 
Quaternary periods. 

All who have seen the Grand Canon itself 
pronounce it the most sublime of earthly spec- 
tacles. It is more than two hundred miles long, 
five thousand to six thousand feet deep, and 
from five to twelve miles wide. To the concep- 
tion of its vast proportions one must add some 
notion of its intricate plan, the nobility of its 
architecture, its colossal buttes, its wealth of 
ornamentation, and the splendor of its colors. 
It is not a mere canon, as the word is commonly 
understood ; not simply a dark, deep gash in the 
earth, with nearly vertical walls. It is vastly 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. Ill 

more than this ; more complex, more beautiful, 
and filled with exquisite colors. Underneath 
the pale-gray summits of the measureless walls 
are pale-pink cross beds of sandstone ; and be- 
low these are belts of brilliant red a thousand 
feet deep, and projecting ledges of brown and 
vermilion and purple. The hues deepen or 
grow faint with every passing hour of the day, 
while at sunset the splendors are more than 
earthly. The canon grows in beauty, power, 
and dimensions. The grand becomes majestic, 
the majestic sublime. The expanse within is a 
deep, luminous red, and the clouds above shine 
with orange and crimson. Then, gradually, the 
shades deepen and ascend, hiding the sculptured 
walls, and leaving their tops floating on a sea of 
blackness. 

The Colorado flows with great rapidity through 
its canon, the average fall being 7.56 feet to the 
mile. In one of the divisions into which the 
gorge is subdivided, it is 12.07 feet to the mile. 
The water is rarely clear, but is filled with a 
sandy sediment that greatly increases the corrad- 
ing strength of the on-rushing streams. There 
are few points where the river level can be 
reached. As a rule you are high above it, the 



112 SHOSHONE. 

cliffs rising overhead and descending far beneath 
the mid-way shelf on which you stand. As for 
these colored walls, which so shut in the Colo- 
rado, who shall attempt a description of their 
towers and domes and colonnades? Some are 
almost without a break from top to base ; others 
contain a succession of shelves, each supporting 
some quaint ornamentation of brilliant color. 
In one instance is a row of towers, more than 
three thousand feet high, quarried out of the 
palisade and well advanced from its face; in 
another is a domelike mass, white as chalk and 
streaked with ribbons of carmine. Temples and 
cathedrals are everywhere, flashing their rich 
tints upon the region above which they rise, and 
their bases extending into the depths where the 
river runs. Wherever he goes one will see the 
same beautiful creations ; and to relieve the gen- 
eral features of any possible monotony he will 
here and there, far down in the levels of the 
canons, find narrow patches of bright-green ver- 
dure, fringed with brown banks of talus thrown 
down from the cliffs above. In all the West 
there is no district so well worth one's study as 
that of the Colorado Canon ; and the geological 
reports about it are fascinating reading. 




CASTLE GATE. 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. II5 

Beyond Green River and Castle Valley com- 
mences the steep ascent of the Wasatch Moun- 
tains, and the beautiful in nature again appears, 
the first effect being Castle Gate, guarding the 
entrance to Price River Canon, through which 
the railway runs. Castle Gate is similar in many 
respects to the gateway to the Garden of the 
Gods. The two huge pillars, or ledges of rock 
composing it, are offshoots of the cliffs behind. 
They are of different heights, one measuring 
five hundred, and the other four hundred and 
fifty feet, from top to base. They are richly 
dyed with red ; and the firs and pines grow- 
ing about them, but reaching only to their 
lower strata, render this coloring more noticeable 
and beautiful. Between the two sharp promon- 
tories, separated only by a narrow space, the 
river and the railway both run, one pressing 
closely against the other. The stream leaps 
over a rocky bed, and its banks are lined with 
tangled brush. Once past the gate, and looking 
back, the bold headlands forming it have a new 
and more attractive beauty. They are higher 
and more massive, it seems, than when we were 
in their shadow. Church-like caps hang far 
over the perpendicular faces. No other pinna- 



Il6 SHOSHONE. 

cles approach them in size or majesty. They 
are landmarks up and down the canon, their 
lofty tops catching the eye before their bases 
are discovered. 

It was down Price River Canon, and through 
Castle Gate, that Sydney Johnson marched his 
army home from Utah. For miles now, and 
until the mountains are crossed, the route chosen 
by the General is closely followed. The gate- 
way is hardly lost to view by a turn in the canon 
before we are scaling wooded heights. The 
river is never lost sight of The cliffs which 
hem us in are filled with curious forms. Now 
there is seen a mighty castle, with moats and 
towers, loopholes and wall ; now a gigantic head 
appears. At times side canons, smaller than the 
one we are in, lead to verdant heights beyond, 
where game of every variety abounds. 

From Castle Gate to the Utah Valley, the 
Railway winds among the mountains of the 
Wasatch Range. From the summit down to 
lower levels again, the route is through canons 
illumined with vari-colored pinnacles of rock. 
Then, almost without warning, the mountains 
are left behind. Before you stretch the great 
central valleys of Utah. In the far distance is the 



THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. II7 

Salt Lake; and at its side is the Mormon city. 
The road passes through Utah Valley, oblong 
in shape, lighted by its lake, and rendered fair 
to look upon by its continuous meadows and 
orchard-surrounded towns. Eastward the basin 
is shut in by the Wasatch Mountains ; and on 
the west is the Oquirrh Range. Northward are 
low hills, or mesas, crossing the valley and 
separating it from that of the Great Salt Lake ; 
while in the south the east and west ranges 
approach each other and form blue-tinted walls 
of uneven shape. To the left of this barrier 
Mount Nebo, highest and grandest of the Utah 
peaks, rises majestically above all surroundings. 
Its summit sparkles with snow ; its lower slopes 
are wooded and soft, while from it, and extend- 
ing north and south, run vast, broken, vari- 
colored heights. The valley is like a well-kept 
garden, and you leave it with regret. 

The Rio Grande road advertises itself as the 
" Scenic Line." Those who have followed me 
in the brief, spasmodic glances at its attractions 
will grant the title, I think. As you pass out of 
Utah Valley and enter that of the river Jordan, 
extending northward toward Salt Lake City, 
one's thoughts are of the past, conjuring up the 



Il8 SHOSHONE. 

pictures of the strange gorges through which 
you have passed, and the heights you have 
climbed. The reahty, so wonderful, seems al- 
most an unreality; and in the enthusiasm of the 
hour you are ready to acknowledge the little 
narrow gauge Road to be anything and every- 
thing which its owners claim. 



Chapter VI. 

GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 

UTAH is the great middle West Territory. 
Isolated for years, and only lately begin- 
ning to receive the attention so richly deserved, 
it was long considered an utterly worthless por- 
tion of our country, and was left severely alone. 
When the Mormon emigrants, led by Brigham 
Young, looked upon the valley of the river 
Jordan, now teeming with life and cultivation, 
they saw only a region which had never felt the 
plough or the spade, but which still appeared 
to the little band of outcasts the very spot where 
for them there were rest and peace and safety. 
Sick and footsore from their long tramp across 
the trackless wastes of the wide West, they 
hailed the central valley of Utah, which they 
have since so beautified and adorned, as a mod- 
ern paradise ; and rushing down from Emigra- 
tion Canon, as the gorge by which they entered 



I20 SHOSHONE. 

Utah is called, they began to erect cottages and 
to cultivate the fields which have become famous 
to-day for their fruitfulness and attractiveness. 

Had a Mormon been told when he first came 
to Utah that he ever would be disturbed in his 
new possession ; had it been imagined even that 
railways would ever be built into Utah, or that 
the Gentiles from the East would seek the 
mountain-guarded valleys of the Territory, — it 
may be doubted if the disciples of the Latter 
Day Saints' Church would have been willing, or 
would have dared, to do for Utah and with it 
what they have. But the future had no terrors. 
Even Brigham Young, ablest of his people, then 
and for many years believed that the newly 
acquired country to which he and his followers 
had been led was safe from invasion by enemies 
of the Church, and would never see a Gentile. 
Infusing this belief into subjects ever ready to 
follow his advice, Young urged the settlement 
and cultivation of the valley, and lived to see it 
blossom and bear fruit, and his city to attain 
proportions that called forth the highest enco- 
miums of the world. 

Long before Utah was generally visited, Salt 
Lake City was a thriving metropolis, a city of 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 121 

large and handsome buildings, wide streets, pub- 
lic halls, and energetic inhabitants. Indeed, it 
was the city which attracted visitors to Utah, 
Its fame became international ; and as for the 
valley, at the head of which the city is located, 
it was likened to a modern Arcadia, and was 
sung of by poets and praised by all. Every one 
wanted to see the wonderful region which had 
been a desert, but had become a garden ; and 
little by little foreigners to the Church came 
over the high mountains and overran the Mor- 
mon land. During the past years especially, 
the invaders have rapidly increased in numbers ; 
and to-day Utah, with its verdant valleys and 
sunny basins, its snow-capped peaks and culti- 
vated fields, has railways and mills and Gen- 
tiles, and the old-time authority of the Mormon 
Church is menaced on every hand. The isola- 
tion of the Territory is a thing of the past. The 
deserts have proved of no avail. The new era 
has come. Capital from Gentile pockets has 
opened the mines, laid rails throughout the val- 
leys, become a power whose future mastery is 
inevitable. The country is still a Mormon 
stronghold ; but the outer walls of the Mormon 
castle are down, and over the ruins storms that 



122 SHOSHONE. 

restless army of men whose aim is wealth, and 
whom no obstacles deter or frighten. 

Utah, by which is generally meant that por- 
tion of it lying around and to the south of Salt 
Lake City, is at its best rather early in the sea- 
son, in May and June, or late, in September 
and October. In May the snow has left the 
valley, which lies between two parallel ranges 
with whitened tops, and the trees are green. 
Then the fields are ploughed and the sunshine 
is warm in the sheltered region. The season 
is like a New England spring-time, soft, dreamy, 
and half-awake, and odorous with the perfume 
of budding leaves. 

Later in the season, when the crops are gath- 
ered, the fruits picked, and the broad fields, 
watered by the river Jordan, lie yellow in the 
clear bright air, the shrubs on the mountain- 
sides are a wilderness of color. Then the days 
are sharp and crisp, and distant summits lose 
their August haziness and stand like sentinels 
guarding the flowery land. Fresh from the 
dreary plains surrounding Utah, one feels on 
reaching the Jordan Valley that he has found 
a veritable garden. Even the half- finished ap- 
pearance, so characteristic of other Western 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH, 1 25 

scenes and towns, is conspicuous by its absence. 
The Mormons, whatever else they may have 
omitted doing or becoming, have good taste 
and are busy workers. Their cottages are neat 
and trim, and are enshrined in the midst of 
traihng vines and blossoming flowers ; their 
roads are wide and smooth; and their fields 
are carefully cultivated and extend throughout 
the length and width of the valley. 

Salt Lake City is a curious town, quaint in 
its architecture, and in its general appearance 
having a strange commingling of the beautiful 
and commonplace. It is divided into large 
square blocks of ground, some occupied by 
large stores, and others by pretentious houses 
of yellow brick or wood, with gardens all 
around them. The one main street of the city, 
which has a width and length apparently out 
of all proportion to the business requirements 
of the place, runs nearly due north and south 
from the mountain back of the city toward the 
valley beyond. Facing this are the largest 
shops of the town, including the co-operative 
establishment belonging to the Mormon Church, 
and the high adobe walls behind which are the 
Temple, Tabernacle, Tithing-yard, and resi- 



126 SHOSHONE. 

dence of the Mormon president. Branching 
east and west from this thoroughfare, down the 
sides of which run two streams of clear water, 
acting as scavengers of the city, are the less 
important streets, containing the smaller stores 
and residences. 

Were it not for the fact of there being such 
variety in the architecture of the several dwell- 
ings. Salt Lake might appear angular and pro- 
saic. But hardly two houses are alike, and the 
gardens separating -them give one the impres- 
sion, at times, that he is sojourning in a New 
England village, where, as here, there are green 
trees hanging over picket fences, and cool, fresh 
lawns, with gravelled walks leading through 
them to spacious porches. There is an air of 
solid comfort about these Utah houses which 
invites one's good opinion and entices him to 
linger. They are large and light and cheerful, 
and one looks in vain for evidences of that Mor- 
mon family redundancy which so many suppose 
is glaringly present in a city founded and ruled 
by disciples of polygamy. So far as there is 
external indication, the homes one sees at Salt 
Lake City might be those of well-to-do people 
in the East, who had .gained a competency and 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 12/ 

who now proposed enjoying their remaining 
days in peace and comfort. 

Brigham Young was a good deal of an auto- 
crat in his day, and loved ease and comfort and 
luxury better, possibly, than he did his numer- 
ous wives. His old home, now occupied by his 
successor, stands at the right of the Tithing- 
yard, and enjoys the suggestive name of the 
Bee Hive. Well for the peace of mind of 
the departed Brigham if there were not times 
when his many helpmates rendered the abode 
worthy the name of Hornet's Nest. Either the 
former president was an amiable man of most 
pronounced type, or he was a stern disciplina- 
rian. Otherwise, w^ith so many wives, his life 
could hardly have been a joyous one. 

Looking to-day at the home he occupied, 
with its large porch in front, its three stories, its 
dormer windows, suggestive of many rooms, one 
tries to imagine what his life at home was like, 
and what his power was. But there the *' pal- 
ace " stands, with its windows all intact; and 
Brigham sleeps hard by, at rest at last, whether 
he ever was in life or not. The mansion is a 
comfortable old place, wide and spacious, and 
sedate in its appearance; and by it stands the 



128 SHOSHONE. 

smaller house where the former ruler had his 
office, and from which he directed the affairs of 
this people. The passing years have brought 
but little change to the places. Time has 
chipped the yellow bricks here and there, and 
mellowed the door-posts; but the outer wall sur- 




THE TEMPLE AND TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE. 



rounding the buildings is still high and strong, 
and the office looks as it did when the ablest 
man the Mormons will ever see sat in his arm- 
chair and ruled like a king of the realm. 
The enclosure containing the Temple and 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 29 

Tabernacle is the pride of every Mormon, and 
the Mecca of all strangers. Entering it through 
a wide gateway opening upon the main street, 
one stands at once before the unfinished walls 
of the new Temple, which even now afford a 
realistic suggestion of what the structure is to 
be like when the work is finished. Millions 
have already been expended on the Temple, 
and it has been in process of construction ever 
since 1868, and will require a dozen years of 
labor yet before the work is done. Made with 
solid blocks of native granite, quarried in the 
canons of the Wasatch Range, the walls are 
fifteen feet in thickness, and the building is 
massive in every particular. It is designed to 
contain the several offices of the Church, and the 
polygamous marriages will be celebrated there. 
Its architecture is purely Gothic, and its outlines 
are full of grace and strength. The money for 
its erection was raised by the imposition of 
certain taxes, and the structure will cost, when 
finished, nearly $6,000,000. It will be made 
entirely of granite and brick, to the utter ex- 
clusion of wood-work of any description. 

Just behind the new Temple is the Tabernacle, 
its huge rounded roof resting on circular walls 



130 



SHOSHONE. 



of brick enclosing the spacious interior. From 
a distance the structure resembles an upturned 
boat, and a nearer acquaintance fails to dis- 
close any remarkable beauty in the far-famed 
church. It has a seating capacity on the floor 




PULPITS AND ORGAN. 



of the house of twelve thousand, and four 
thousand people can be accommodated in the 
gallery, which extends around three sides of 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 131 

the hall, and is supported by seventy-two pil- 
lars. The length of the building is two hundred 
and fifty feet, and its width is one hundred and 
fifty. There are twenty doors opening at once 
into outer air, and the interior can be cleared 
of people in five minutes. In the centre of the 
auditorium stands a stone fountain, at which 
baptisms take place. In front of this is the 
great organ, and before it are the pulpits and 
president's desk, and seats for the choir singers. 

Opposite the Tabernacle stands a solemn- 
looking building of Gothic design, in which 
services are held during the winter months when 
the larger house is too cold to be available. It 
is not so commodious as the Tabernacle, but has 
a seating capacity of some eight thousand, and is 
in most respects a finer structure than its neigh- 
bor across the way. It is built of stone, and 
graced at its outer corners by four small towers. 
The interior is elaborately frescoed in pictures 
illustrative of the new religion of which Joseph 
Smith is the founder and patron saint. There 
is an ideal representation of Maroni showing 
Joseph where the tablets were hid in the hill of 
Cumorah ; a view of the pioneers entering the 
valley in 1847; and an inscription announcing 



132 SHOSHONE. 

the fact that the " Church of Jesus Christ of 
Latter Day Saints" was organized in 1836. 

The Endowment House, where polygamous 
marriages were performed, stands in the north- 
west angle of the Temple enclosure. Admit- 
tance to the place is never given a Gentile, and 
one is left to stand outside and imagine what 
there is within. A heavy penalty is attached to 
whoever discloses the secrets of the Endowment 
House, and it is questionable how much reliance 
may be placed in the stories which from time to 
time have been given the believing public. 

Taken as a whole. Salt Lake City is prepos- 
sessing. Famed for its almost universal clean- 
liness, it has also a commanding situation, 
well-arranged streets, large public and private 
buildings, and attractive, even beautiful, sur- 
roundings. Directly behind the city, overlook- 
ing it and the valley, is Ensign Peak. From its 
top one has the best of Utah at his feet. From 
below comes the murmuring sigh of busy life. 
There to the right is the lake, motionless and 
cold; there are the mountains faintly outlined 
in the distance, but nearer showing their rough 
sides and gaping canons. Flowing down the 
valley is the Jordan, sweeping past farm and 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 33 

village ; to the left is Camp Douglas, with its 
cannon-guarded plaza, its cottages, and its 
waving flag. The coloring, if the season is 
favorable, is exquisite, — dark-blue on the dis- 
tant hills, green in the valley, brown on the 
foothills, rich with golden hues where the frosts 
of early fall have touched the maples and the 
quaking asps. One looks from garden to wil- 
derness, upon fresh streams and upon a salty 
inland sea. There is picturesqueness here and 
grandeur there ; softly outlined peaks of blue, 
and granite ledges bare of trees ; while near by 
is the city, perched on its quick-sloping bench 
of land, and commanding the varied prospect. 

The most important suburban attraction of 
Salt Lake is that famous inland sea lying to the 
west of the city, and to which the Union Pacific 
Railroad has extended a branch line. Garfield, 
the terminus of the road, is to Salt Lake what 
Coney Island is to New York. During the long 
summer season the place is the resort of thou- 
sands who flock there to enjoy the delicious 
coolness, and to bathe in the lake. A monster 
pavilion, with bath-rooms, cafe, spacious balco- 
nies, and a long promenade extending two hun- 
dred and seventy feet from the shore, has lately 



134 SHOSHONE. 

been completed. At the end of the promenade 
is a smaller pavilion for the accommodation of 
dancing parties. With its extended view of the 
placid lake and valley, Garfield is an ideal re- 
sort. Tired with sight-seeing and travel, one 
finds there a perfect rest. Sitting on the balcony 
at sundown, a new insight is had into the beau- 
ties of Utah. The lake, usually so colorless, is 
crimsoned by the setting sun, and in the far dis- 
tance westward the mountains become heaps of 
purple, clearly outlined against the brilliant sky. 
Every color is intensified, and only the tiny 
waves rolling in upon the whitened sands dis- 
turb the restful quiet. 

At the height of the season the pavilion is 
crowded. An orchestra plays on the balcony, 
and one may dine as he watches the daylight 
fade away and the moonlit evening steal over 
the enchanting picture. Those so desiring may 
live at Garfield while making the acquaintance 
of Salt Lake. Frequent trains are run between 
it and the city, and the hotel accommodations 
are excellent. 

Few who notice the general dryness of the 
Utah climate, or who regard the lake as an in- 
significant body of water, shallow, salt, and list- 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 35 

less, will at once be able to appreciate the fact 
that at one time, and more than once indeed, 
the present lake had a depth of over a thousand 
feet, and covered the lowlands which to-day 
have their towns, railroads, farms, and people. 
Lake Bonneville, as the geologists call this vast 
inland sea of long ago, had an area as great as 
that of Lake Huron to-day. At first the waters 
were shallow as those of Salt Lake are now. 
Then they gradually rose and spread, flooding 
the region and forming high upon the mountain 
sides those clearly marked '* shore lines," which 
one can still trace and by which the eventful 
history of Bonneville is unfolded. Later, the 
waters receded, and the lake not only dwindled 
in size but utterly disappeared, leaving a plain 
even more desolate than the Great Salt Lake 
Desert of to-day. Then again came the flood, 
the lake rising even above its former height and 
eventually overflowing the basin at its northern 
edge and sending a tributary stream to the 
Columbia River. Following this flood came a 
second recession, and the water diminished in 
volume until nothing remained but the present 
salty lake. There were volcanic movements 
during the periods of the great flood, and the 



136 SHOSHONE. 

high mounds that now stand in the midst of arid 
plains were created beneath the surface of the 
lake. The history of the epoch, as told by 
geologists, is replete with interest ; and the facts 
deducted from the careful studies now being 
made, lead one to question how long the present 
era will last, and when there will come another 
period of humidity during which Great Salt 
Lake will again caress the mountains and hide 
all evidence of the present civilization beneath 
its wind-swept waters. 

In a paper published with the report of the 
Director of the United States Geological Survey, 
Mr. G. K. Gilbert gives a full description of the 
so-called *' shore lines," by which is measured 
the height that the waters of Lake Bonneville 
reached, and analyzes the causes which pro- 
duced the overflow and the manner in which 
the present information was gained. The story 
has been learned from the shore line upon the 
mountain sides, from the waters of the present 
lake, from the alluvial, clay, and marl deposits 
at the base of the cliffs, and from the arid des- 
erts and volcanic creations. The very stones 
have been made to speak ; and the deductions 
are so logical that Bonneville seems of the pres- 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 37 

ent rather than of the past, and is easily thought 
of as still bathing the heights which are far above 
the lake at whose side we stand. The structural 
formation of the earth's surface was never inter- 
rupted by the floods. The islands we see were 
mountains once, and the isolated buttes, standing 
in the midst of arid plains, were islands. Before 
Bonneville existed, its basin had not even the 
water it now contains ; and even after the first 
flood it became dry once more, and the salty 
sediment was buried beneath the layers of earth 
that were washed to the basin by the inflowing 
rivers. So deep was this coating of alluvium, 
that the second flood could not dissolve it, and 
Bonneville was a fresh water lake. It is facts 
such as these that the cliffs and deposits of clay 
and marl are made to tell. The story is full 
of strange surprises, and the deductions drawn 
render the great basin more interesting to the 
student than it can be even to the most ardent 
admirer of its grandeur and picturesqueness. 

Briefly stated, the changes which Lake Bonne- 
ville experienced imply that there were two dis- 
tinct climatic epochs in its history, both being 
of excessive moisture or cold, and which were 
separated by an interval of superlative dryness 



138 SHOSHONE. 

and preceded by a climatic period comparable 
with the present. The first epoch of humidity 
was by far the longer, and the second, which 
caused an overflow of the lake, the more intense. 
The phenomena occurred during the Quaternary 
time, which is the geologic yesterday, and were 
coincident with the volcanic activity of the Ter- 
tiary period, which presumably has not }^et 
ended. 

The " shore lines " on the mountains are dis- 
tinctly visible. The level tracings have the 
characteristics of ocean shores subject to wave 
action, — by which all sea cliffs and beaches are 
formed, — and extend all about the lower slopes 
of the ranges which enclose the Utah Basin. 
The two best-defined ones are respectively one 
thousand and four hundred feet above the level 
of Great Salt Lake, and are named the Bonne- 
ville and the Provo. Between them are four or 
five other lines to which no particular names are 
given. The Bonneville shore line owes its dis- 
tinction to the fact that it marks the limit be- 
tween the wave-wrought surface below and the 
rain-sculptured forms which rise above. The 
shore lines are so clearly defined that they at 
once led to the belief that Lake Bonneville, 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 39 

which created them, had an outlet, since a body 
of water dependent upon evaporation alone could 
not have maintained its level sufficiently long to 
make so clearly defined wave lines. Search was 
therefore made for the supposed outlet, which 
at last was found at the northern extremity of 
Cache Valley. The sill over which the waters 
were first discharged was soft and soon wore 
away, permitting the lake to be rapidly lowered. 
The second sill was harder and held the lake at 
a constant level, until its overflow was stopped 
by the climatic changes that finally diminished 
the w^ater supply. The level of the first sill has 
been found to be that of the Bonneville *' shore 
line," and the level of the second sill to be that 
of the Provo ''shore line," — facts that satisfac- 
torily correlate the history of the overflow with 
the history of the most conspicuous '* shore 
lines." 

That Bonneville twice rose until its size was 
ten times that of the present lake ; that its bed 
was once a dry basin with a climate similar to 
that of the present time, — the geologists have 
little difficulty in proving. The successive up- 
risings are shown by the yellow clay and white 
marl precipitants on the mountain sides. The 



I40 SHOSHONE. 

one was deposited at one period, and the other 
at another; and dividing the two is a layer of 
alluvium which could only have been formed 
during a season of dryness, and after the flood 
which had precipitated the lower stratum of 
yellow clay had subsided. 

The evidence of rain-sculpture everywhere 
observed on the slopes of the mountains, now 
half submerged by the alluvial deposits, proves 
the Bonneville basin to have been absolutely 
waterless before the lake itself first had an 
existence. On this supposition alone can the 
peculiar formations which are produced by the 
action of rain upon the most enduring surfaces 
be explained. Had there been a lake, the rain 
sculpture could not have been created beneath 
the surface. It is possible, to be sure, that the 
basin had a lower outlet than that of the Bonne- 
ville "shore line;" but during the period re- 
quired for the burial of the mountain bases 
barriers must have existed, or the desert could 
not have retained the detritus. 

The erosion subsequent to the time when 
Bonneville was depositing its marl and clay has 
been immaterial. The sea cliffs, the embank- 
ments, the sand bars, and beaches, are almost 



GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 141 

as perfect as though the lake had but just left 
them. There are bowlders of quartzite and 
other enduring rock which still retain the 
smooth, glistening surfaces which the waves 
gave them so long ago. 

Great Salt Lake has an altitude of 4,260 feet, 
and covers an area of nearly four thousand 
square miles. The water contains about fifteen 
per cent of salt in perfect solution, and is of 
such specific gravity that bathers find it almost 
impossible to sink. The lake, like the Dead Sea, 
has now no outlet. Though several rivers empty 
into it, there is never any overflow. Evapora- 
tion alone prevents inundation. At Garfield the 
beach is hard and shelving. Year by year the 
shore becomes more popular as a resort, and 
in time will have, like Newport, its villas and 
animated life. 



Chapter VII. 

SHOSHONE. 

AUGUST was lazily counting its last days 
before we were ready to leave the king- 
dom of Mormonism. We had already decided 
to go north to the Shoshone Falls (Sho-sho-nee) 
in Southern Idaho, and from there to the Yel- 
lowstone. September, we were told, was the 
best of all months in which to see the famous 
Park. 

Getting out of Utah is nearly as interesting as 
entering the Territory. The journey northward 
toward Ogden is not so picturesque, perhaps, and 
the scenery en route is not so varied and sub- 
lime ; but the views one has of valley and hill 
are pastoral, and for an hour at least the road 
closely follows the curving shore of the lake. 
Looking upon the vast expanse of water, so 
quiet and mysterious, one recalls the strange 
history of the salty sea which sleeps so serenely 



SHOSHONE. 145 

in the midst of a waterless desert. There are 
no fish in Salt Lake, and but few boats are 
ever seen. As a rule the shores are flat and 
sandy, white with layers of salt; but far away 
to the westward are high mountains, wonder- 
fully colored and having the roughest possible 
contour. 

It is very customary to regard the middle 
West as utterly lacking in historical interest. 
That Its modern history is meagre one cannot 
deny ; and the story of the time when the Indians 
held it and waged their barbarous battles against 
the invaders from the East is soon told, and is 
now too well known to bear repeating. But 
in view of what vv^e already know through the 
geologists, one will feel that our deserts are not 
so barren of interest as might be supposed. Not 
every country in the world has once been the 
bed of an ocean. There was a vast amount 
of irresistible force employed in the dim past, 
— a force that drank the sea dry and that 
levelled mountains and fashioned the strange 
objects that to-day gaze down upon us from 
their crumbling heights. Plough the desert 
sands, and you will turn up monster sea-shells ; 
and wherever you go there will be heard the 



146 SHOSHONE. 

piping notes of birds you are accustomed to 
find , along our New England coast. I have 
always taken a melancholy pleasure in hearing 
the plaintive notes of these little exiled sand- 
pipers of the desert. The disappearance of 
the sea must have been most unexpected and 
sudden to have left these water-loving birds 
stranded where the waves may never come 
again. 

Mormon farm-houses are scattered along the 
entire way between Salt Lake and Ogden. Each 
has its orchard and garden and ample hay-stack, 
while a few are so large that one mentally fills 
them with a numerous family. Much of the 
land bordering the lake is very productive. 
The long wide fields we saw were all yellow 
with stubble, and piles of rosy-red apples were 
scattered about the orchards. 

The town of Ogden, one of the termini of the 
Union Pacific, and a place well remembered by 
all transcontinental travellers, is not an interest- 
ing town, nor a picturesque one. It might have 
been both, for the site of the city afforded great 
opportunities. The mountains encircle it on 
three sides, and southward is a delightful view 
down the valley to the lake. Nature's sugges- 



SHOSHONE. 147 

tions have been in vain, however, and the houses 
are provokingly ugly. 

Of the mountain ranges contained in the 
Great Basin none compare either in height or 
beauty with that of the Wasatch. From Ogden 
the view of the range is particularly satisfying. 
Its canons, opening upon the valley which the 
city occupies, are watered by mountain streams, 
and the rocky walls are of red-tinged sandstone 
relieved by strata of pale yellow and gray. 
From the higher limits of the gorges the outlook 
is over many miles of country. Far southward 
is Mount Nebo, the highest peak of the range ; 
nearer at hand is Great Salt Lake, and in the 
distance are the sharp-pointed or flat-topped 
buttes which the Bonneville waters have left 
stranded in the midst of treeless wastes. The 
area of the Great Basin, larger than that of the 
Middle and Eastern States combined, lies all 
around you. Looking upon it the history of 
its formation comes vividly to your mind, and 
its extended limits teach once more the utter 
impossibility of trying to see all the West in 
one season. 

The geological survey of the Basin involves 
the study of many topics. Each mountain has 



148 SHOSHONE. 

a variety of strata and a history of its own, and 
the district as a whole contains every known 
group of formations. You cannot fully study it 
in sections, for the various geologic systems — 
the Archaean, the Paleozoic, the Mesozoic, and 
the Tertiary — are each developed in so many 
localities that no one can be understood until 
the whole area is traversed. Volcanic rocks are 
everywhere, and the phenomena attending the 
growth and decay of mountains are always 
present. 

If the restricted areas that owe their configu- 
ration to the recent action of lakes or oceans or 
to the passage of glaciers are excepted, it may 
be said that the whole surface of the. land exem- 
plifies the " plastic art of rain." Other causes 
produce the hills and mountains, but rain is the 
agent which develops the forms that, in the 
West, are such noticeable features of the land- 
scape. Its work is untiring and systematic, de- 
structive and constructive. It tears down and 
builds up. In summer the heavy showers wage 
yearly war upon the crumbling headlands ; and 
in winter the frosts in the crevices force bowl- 
ders from their long resting-place. The curious 
forms of red or yellow sandstone are not the 



SHOSHONE. 149 

result of accident but of design. Every object 
that we shall see, wherever we travel now, is an 
example of rain-sculpture. Some will be more 
wonderful than others. In the Yellowstone they 
will have surprising beauty ; but whatever their 
degree of perfection they are still the exempli- 
fication of a force in Nature that is, in a great 
measure, the moulder of continents. 

The only direct road from Ogden to the town 
of Shoshone, the nearest railway point to the 
Great Falls, is the Utah & Northern. It is op- 
erated by the Union Pacific, and from Ogden to 
Pocatello, in Southern Idaho, is narrow gauge. 
From Pocatello north to Butte and other Mon- 
tana points, it is broad gauge. At the first- 
named town it connects with the Oregon Short 
Line, extending westward across Idaho to the 
leased line by which the Union Pacific enters 
Portland. Leaving Ogden at noon one reaches 
Pocatello at six. After supper there the Oregon 
Short Line train is taken for Shoshone, — a 
straggling little village whose lights greet you 
on your midnight arrival. The long journey 
of the day has not been an eventful one; nor 
has the scenery been very attractive. From 
Ogden the Road leads past the high fronts of 



150 SHOSHONE. 

the Wasatch Range, through winding valleys 
containing a succession of Mormon farms and 
villages. Later on the mountains are seen only 
in the distance, and in their place are dark-hued 
volcanic ledges that skirt the edge of far-reaching 
plains. 

Shoshone being so very dead, one cannot 
with propriety speak of it otherwise than kindly. 
In itself it is unimportant. The country sur- 
rounding it is covered with layers of dark-col- 
ored lava, and is so barren that the Shoshone 
cows eye every empty tomato-can with greedy 
interest. I doubt if the town, small as it is, 
would have even its present proportions were it 
not that south of it are the Shoshone Falls, and 
on the northwest the Wood River mining coun- 
try. Tourists seek the one attraction, and for- 
tune-hunters the other; and so far both have 
been well paid for their trouble. There is a 
branch of the railroad from Shoshone to the 
mines, and to the Falls is a wagon road twenty- 
five miles long, over which we drove, and over 
which I strongly urge every lover of what- 
ever is indescribably beautiful and grand and 
sublime in Nature's handiwork to drive. After 
seeing the Falls we were ready to forgive the 



SHOSHONE. I^I 

town anything-, — even the dismal welcome it 
gave us the night of our arrival, or the prospect 
it revealed in the morning when we for the first 
time looked upon the surrounding fields of lava. 

The conveyances used in going to the Falls 
are decidedly primitive. Ours was an old Dead- 
wood coach, lined with faded plush, and deco- 
rated on the outside by a bundle of hay, — a 
tempting bit of luxury which half-a-dozen cows 
were hungrily eying. The sun was hardly up 
before we were, and had only begun his work 
of lighting the country when we took stage-and- 
four and rattled smartly out of town. The lava 
beds stretched all around us, and only in the far 
distance could we see any hills. Southern Idaho 
is strikingly different in general appearance from 
the northern portion of the Territory. In the 
latter, mountains are omnipresent, and there are 
heavy forests of pine, fir, and balsam. In the 
south the levels are continuous, — treeless, nearly 
grassless, and so barren and deserted that during 
our entire drive there were no houses to be seen. 
Jack-rabbits and occasionally a passing horse- 
man were the only living features. All was 
dark and silent, — so still indeed that the wind, 
which whistled through the creaking sides of 



152 SHOSHONE. 

the old coach, was Hke that which at sea sighs 
through the rigging of a ship. 

It is not a hard drive to the Falls, — if one 
forgives the joltings he gets when too rapid time 
is made over certam parts of the road, — and 
the few hours of our journey were soon gone. 
Looking ahead, in the direction of the river we 
were soon to reach, we could see no sign of it. 
To all appearance the levels were unbroken. 
At last W., who acted as guide, pointed to a 
solitary piiion that stood boldly outlined in the 
distance, and said the river ran at its base. 
Keeping the tree in view, and sure of our in- 
formation, we were still unable to find even the 
suggestion of the near presence of a river. To 
our eyes there was nothing beyond our imme- 
diate surroundings, — solitary plains, listless and 
bare. 

Then, at last, came the revelation and the 
indescribable view of the erratic, rock-bound 
river. Reaching the tree, we left the coach and 
crawled out upon the blackened rocks. Below 
us opened the canon through which, a thousand 
feet below the upper levels, the river Snake 
has its course. The distance from where we 
stood to the water below seemed measureless. 



SHOSHONE. 155 

The caiion was like a mighty rent in the earth, — 
an opening cut deep into the surface and with 
sohd walls of rock rising ^lbruptly from the 
river's edge. In a dark night, if unacquainted 
with the country, one would drive headlong in- 
to this gorge ; and the river, at the bottom, would 
sweep away all trace of the tragedy. Even by 
day one might easily stumble into the canon. 
There is nothing to herald its nearness ; nothing 
to save one who makes the first false step. 

The Snake River is a tributary of the Colum- 
bia, joining the latter in Eastern Washington. 
It is born in Wyoming, of the many streams 
that have their source among the mountains 
there, and flows westward through a canon that 
for length and depth, and beauty of a rugged 
order, is one of the marvels of the world. 
Standing on its brink, or gazing upward from 
the level of the river, the impression upon one's 
mind is the same. You are oppressed by a 
sense of the awfulness of the creation ; and 
watching the river moving along so calmly as 
it does just before the Falls are reached, you 
wish you could give it the green banks of some 
of the streams you know. There was never a 
day during our Shoshone visit that, for a mo- 



156 SHOSHONE. 

ment, the region did not become a hideous 
reahty from which I longed to escape. But 
all such moments were followed by hours when 
the very height of the walls that hemmed us 
in, and the wild noise of the falling river fas- 
cinated and exhilarated. You should see the 
river gather itself together for its leap into the 
lower depths of the canon ; should listen to 
the roar it makes : should feel the earth tremble 
with the shock ; should watch the rising mists, 
ghost-like in the moonlight; should give days 
to the isolated place, to know the fascinations 
of Shoshone Falls. Telling one how high the 
Falls are, how deep the canon is, gives no idea 
of the place itself, of its coloring, and of its 
weirdness. The canon is a world by itself, full 
of novelties and strange sights. Night-loving 
bats live in the caverns that honeycomb the 
cliffs ; and on the top of a high, slim pinnacle 
of red rock, rising amid-stream, an eagle has 
her nest and rears her brood. There are points 
overlooking the Falls where, unless strong, you 
will feel ill and dizzy; and there are others 
where you will delight to sit and read. 

Above the Falls, at the ferry crossing, the 
river is wide, deep, and smooth. The cliffs are 



SHOSHONE. 159 

reflected 011 its surface as clearly as though the 
Snake were a mirror. It is there that one takes 
his daily row, calling for echoes as he glides 
past the overhanging ledges, and gaining a 
point at last where there is a view up the stream, 
beyond a series of rapids, to the Twin Falls, 
light and feathery against their background of 
rock. In a meditative mood one seeks this 
quieter part of the river for the restfulness it 
offers. Bushes and tufts of grass cling to the 
water's edge, and there are isolated caves which, 
deep-set and rock-bound though they are, still 
have their sense of peace and quiet and repose 
that is most welcome after the wild tumult of 
the canon below^ 

To meet the demands of the constantly in- 
creasing number of tourists visiting Shoshone, 
a rough wagon trail has been constructed down 
the north wall of the caiion to the level of the 
river. The path is long and steep, and com- 
mands an extended view of the upper canon. 
At the river-side is a short stretch of sand, 
occupied by a solitary cottage belonging to 
Mr. Walgamott, the guide under whose care 
one visits the various objects of interest. A 
stone's-throw beyond his little cottage is the 



l60 SHOSHONE. 

ferry, — a flat-bottomed boat guided by wire 
cables and worked by a windlass. Driving 
upon this we crossed the river to the south 
bank. There, a few rods from the landing, is 
the little hotel that has lately been built. It 
stands on a high bluff directly over the Falls, 
and has an outlook both up and down the wind- 
ing length of the cailon. The house is well 
managed, as we found to our delight, and the 
rooms and table are excellent. Stages make 
daily trips from Shoshone to the hotel ; and the 
Falls, at last, have publicly made their bid for 
the approval of the multitude. 

The actual length of the Shoshone Canon is 
seventy miles. Thirty miles below the entrance 
to the gorge the principal scenic features begin. 
From near its source to the eastern end of the 
canon the Snake flows above-ground through 
an area that is unparalleled for the height, num- 
ber, and beauty of its mountains. It has nearly 
forty tributaries, — some of them fed by geysers 
and others by melting glaciers, — and its waters 
are the coldest of any known river. 

The American Fall, forty feet high, is the 
first cataract of the river as it flows down 
stream. It is here that the Oregon Short Line 



SHOSHONE. l6l 

crosses the Snake. " Far beneath the bridge one 
sees the boihng waters, their whiteness reheved 
by uprising ledges of volcanic rock. Were it 
not for Shoshone, the American Falls would be 
famous. As it is, they are neglected for the 
more wonderful cataracts farther westward. 

Seventy miles beyond the railroad crossing 
the grand canon begins. The river, ever rest- 
less, sinks deeper and deeper into the surface of 
the earth. Now it lashes itself into foam, now 
tumbles over obstructing ledges. Here placid 
as a mill-pond and scarcely moving, it again 
rushes madly onward, deaf to all entreaty. It 
is like a fiend, I think, loving darkness rather 
than light, battling with its walls, raging at its 
confinement. Sometimes the water is emerald- 
green, light and transparent ; then it is dark, and 
the froth floating on its surface is as eider down, 
by contrast. 

The first cataracts within the canon are the 
Twins, or Upper Shoshone Falls. They have 
a single leap of one hundred and eighty feet. 
A huge rock, caught in mid-stream, divides the 
river into two channels, each seventy feet wide, 
and through these the water flows. The basin 
which receives the Falls is nearly circular in 
II 



1 62 



SHOSHONE. 



shape, and is like a boiling caldron, filled with 
troubled waters and sending forth dense masses 
of spray. 

Below the Twins is a half-mile of rapids. 
Farther down, the river grows tranquil again, 




THE TWIN SHOSHONE FALLS. 



and then, a few rods from the ferry-crossing, 
contracts to a width of less than six hundred 
feet, and makes noisy preparation for its great- 
est fall. At the ferry is heard the loud roar of 
the water as it strikes the hidden ledges below ; 
while, shrouding the long white line marking the 



SHOSHONE. 163 

point of actual fall, are the heavy mists which 
rise high toward the tops of the cliffs and are 
tossed about by the winds. 

Near the brink the river widens to a quarter 
of a mile, and is divided by three rocks, corre- 
sponding to the islands in the rapids at Niagara. 
Just below these a smaller island forces the 
water to the left in a small cataract about fifteen 
feet high. To the right is Cedar Island, between 
which and its mate are small falls, or rapids, 
whose waters, uniting, sweep past a crescent- 
shaped beach to the final plunge. To the right 
of Cedar Island the river is obstructed by red- 
tinged rocks, with sturdy little pines clinging 
to their tops, that form a most picturesque 
series of falls. Between two of these islands is 
the Bridal Veil Fall. Next to it is the Bridal 
Train. Both have a leap of eighty-two feet, 
and bear a wonderful resemblance, as the water 
glistens in the sunlight, to the faultless lace of 
a royal bride's veil and train. *' While watch- 
ing this enchanting spectacle," says a writer, 
'' one can fancy the gothic arch of the cave to 
the right the entrance to a chapel, and in the 
delicious murmur of the jewelled drops trickling 
from the rocks near by can detect the soft 



1 64 SHOSHONE. 

strains of Mendelssohn, or in the roar of the 
Great Falls below imagine the thunders of 
Wagner, in Lohengrin." 

At Niagara the river falls two hundred and 
twenty-five feet in twenty-five miles. At Sho- 
shone the Snake descends five hundred feet in 
four miles. The Great Fall of Shoshone is 
crescent-shaped, and is two hundred and twenty- 
five feet high by nine hundred and fifty feet 
wide. The plunge is unbroken. Facing it one 
sees a quivering wall of water that stretches 
from one side of the canon to the other. The 
roar is deafening, and its force so great that 
the displaced air is as fierce as a tornado. 
The earth trembles from the blow it receives. 
You yourself are drenched with spray; and the 
rising mist is like a fog at sea, blown hither 
and thither, and so catching the sun's rays as 
to form arch upon arch of glorious color. 

The high bluff on which the hotel stands 
makes quick descent to the river at the brink of 
the Great Fall, and is overgrown with juniper- 
trees. Through the grove are pathways to vari- 
ous points of observation. From one of these, 
named Lookout Point, the view embraces the 
river both above and below the Great Fall, 




UNDER THE GREAT FALLS, SHOSHONE. 



SHOSHONE. 167 

whose crest is at your feet. Up-stream the 
Snake is a mass of cataracts, milky-white, while 
for their background are the tall black cliffs of 
the canon, their sombre coloring making the 
whiteness whiter and the lace-like appearance 
more pronounced. Between the upper cascades 
and the Great Fall the river is full of anima- 
tion. It fairly glistens with anticipation of its 
wild leap. Its waves, nearing you, beat upon 
the rock which is your foothold, and noisily roll 
upon the little stretch of sanded beach which 
extends in crescent line from the brink you 
overlook to the Mill Race Cascade, a short 
distance away. 

But fascinating as this view is, one must not 
neglect that down the canon. It has not the 
varied beauty of the other, perhaps, but its 
sublimity is fascinating. Rising from the awful 
depths are clouds of mist, through which you 
see the river nearly five hundred feet below, still 
fretful and strewn with foam, but resolutely rush- 
ing onward to whatever new dangers it may en- 
counter. Its width is less now than it was, and 
the caiion walls are higher. As you look, the 
waters round a projecting angle, and beyond 
there is nothing but the solid walls of rock. 



1 68 SHOSHONE. 

The beauty of Shoshone Falls is that they bear 
study. The more you know of them, the better 
acquainted you become with them, the more 
strongly they appeal to you. We viewed them 
from every point. If desirous of picturesque 
effects, we selected Lookout Point; if anxious 
for more startling features, we sought the narrow 
level that clings to the cliffs below the Great 
Fall. It is there that one gains a full conception 
of the size and power of this Western rival of 
Niagara. 

Besides those I have mentioned, the caiion 
of the Snake has many other attractions. In 
the cliffs at the foot of the Great Falls are 
curiously fashioned caves. In one the roar of 
the waters reverberates in sounds like the paddle- 
wheels of a steamer run at full speed ; in another 
— an ear-shaped grotto two hundred feet high, 
and named '' Diana's Bath-room " — cold drops 
of water trickle from the ceiling walls, and are 
caught by a stone-rimmed basin set in the 
floor of the vaulted chamber. The trail to the 
river level below the Falls is down a steep 
embankment nearly one thousand feet high. 
The descent and the returning climb form no 
inconsiderable labor for the inexperienced ; and 



SHOSHONE. 171 

yet I am sure that none will regret the exertion. 
At the base of the trail the ground is covered 
with water-soaked timber that has been hurled 
over the Falls and tossed upon the shore ; and 
in the crevices of the high vertical walls of the 
gorge are moss-grown cedars, dripping with 
moisture. 

Among the more prominent landmarks around 
the Falls are Dewey's Blufif, one thousand and 
fifty feet high, Sentinel Rock, Lover's Leap, — 
that never had a tragedy, — Creighton's Bluff, 
Walgamott Island, and the Natural Bridge. Be- 
neath the latter, as through a frame, one sees 
the silvery front of the Great Fall, and in the 
distance the bold outlines of Dewey's Bluff. The 
walls of the canon are everywhere cut into gigan- 
tic basaltic and trachytic columns, whose coloring 
is red, yellow, brown, and black. 

The scenery near the Twin Falls is made inter- 
esting by the geological features. You can trace 
the course of the canon for a mile or more, and 
your best view of the cataract is from the high 
embankment at the base of which the river 
speeds. In our pilgrimage to the Twins we 
drove along the south side of the river to the 
entrance to Adams' Canon. Leaving our team 



1/2 SHOSHONE. 

there we walked through the rock-strewn gorge. 
It is full of fitful shades, and is shut in by tower- 
ing cliffs. It is wonderfully impressive, and 
Dante, I am sure, would have revelled in its 
dark beauty. The huge blocks of stone are 
often set with great precision, much as though 
human hands had done the work. But again, 
the walls are full of rough projections and pene- 
trated by mysterious-looking caves. 

At the end of Adams' Caiion is an open space 
extending to the brink of the river. You can, 
if inclined, reach the base of the Twin Falls ; 
but the path is steep, and at the end of your 
labor you are wet with spray, and your ears are 
deafened by the noise. It is better to remain 
on the top of the bluff; for from there the view 
is extended, and you can see the river gather 
for its plunge and, after its fall, hurry away 
down the winding gorge. 

It is not known who discovered the Shoshone 
Falls, nor when they were first visited. No 
mention is made of them by the emigrants, who 
must have passed near the canon on their way 
to Oregon, and it is doubtful if they knew of 
their nearness to the wonderful place. The only 
man to lend historical interest to the Falls was 



SHOSHONE. 173 

Tom Bell. He was a miner who worked a 
claim on the island separating the Bridal Veil 
Falls. His custom was to cross the river by 
boat. One day, when in mid-stream, his oar 
broke. It is needless to picture the result. 
Poor Tom went over the brink, of course, and 
Shoshone had its tragedy. If local information 
may be relied upon, one or two Chinamen have 
since shared Bell's fate. It is said that the sand- 
bars around the islands above the Falls are rich 
with gold, washed down by the river. If this 
is so, we may expect any number of casualties ; 
for miners will go wherever gold exists, and 
the Shoshone is no respecter of persons, but 
gathers in whoever dares to come within its 
reach. 



Chapter VIII. 

A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 

HE who reads the story of early days in the 
far West, and especially that portion relat- 
ing to the adventures of the men and women 
who made the hazardous journey across coun- 
try to Oregon and California, will find frequent 
mention of a certain region where there was an 
abundance of green grass and water. It was 
here that the footsore people rested. The place 
was to them a blessed sanatorium, an oasis in 
the desert where the springs poured forth Vichy 
and Apollinaris that could be had for the 
taking. 

The present name of this famous camping 
ground is Soda Springs. Leaving Shoshone we 
returned to Pocatello, and from there went east- 
ward to the little settlement that has sprung up 
around the series of ice-cold, medicinal waters. 
The springs are in Bingham County, Idaho, 
sixty miles east of Pocatello, and are on the 
Oregon Short Line. They occupy a depression 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 77 

among the Wasatch Mountains and have an ele- 
vation of six thousand feet. In summer the 
days are warm and the nights are cool. Near 
by are some of the best hunting and fishing 
grounds in the West. Blackfoot Creek, ten 
miles distant, is famed far and wide for its trout, 
A new hotel has lately been built, which is not 
only very comfortable, but from which the pros- 
pect is exceedingly attractive. The hill-sides 
were gorgeous with color when we saw them, 
and on some of the higher peaks of the range 
were patches of newly fallen snow. The plain 
surrounding the house is wide and level ; and 
guarding it are low-browed foothills, back of 
which rise the mountains. 

The many springs at this isolated little re- 
sort contain medicinal properties that render 
them as efficacious in the cure of disease as the 
more celebrated springs of Germany or Saratoga. 
The waters are charged with bi-carbonate of 
soda and potash, chloride of sodium and potash, 
sulphates and carbonates of magnesia and lime, 
carbonate of iron, free carbonic acid gas, and 
a multitude of other ingredients. The springs 
are scattered at random over the valley, and 
the waters bubble forth from the earth in such 
12 



178 SHOSHONE. 

abundance that they form numerous rivulets 
which flow across country until lost in the plains 
beyond. 

At one of the springs a bottling company 
has begun active work. The product shipped 
away is better, according to competent judges, 
than the imported Apollinaris. In its natural 
state the water is as sparkling as champagne and 
has a delicious flavor. This is true of the other 
springs ; their taste is never disagreeable. 

From the time when Brigham Young visited 
Soda Springs and blessed its healing waters, 
to the present day, the valley has been the 
Mecca of Mormons. They visit it religiously 
and are unwilling to let the summer season 
pass without camping for a week or more in the 
near proximity to that which they are sure will 
give them renewed vitality. 

The ride from Soda Springs to Pocatello does 
much to interest one in Southern Idaho. The 
country is well watered, and is a succession of 
fertile valleys, each filled with cattle and comfort- 
able farm-houses, that are suggestive, in a meas- 
ure, of those in the East. At Pocatello, however, 
the freshness is lost, and there are vast areas of 
dryness. 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 79 

It is very well known, I presume, that there is 
a Yellowstone National Park somewhere in the 
West, and that a direct route to it is over the 
Northern Pacific road from St. Paul to Cinnabar, 
on the outskirts of the so-called '' Wonderland." 
As a rule all visitors select this route. In taking 
another, the features of which afforded us infinite 
gratification, we were influenced in part by 
chance, and in part by the desire to escape the 
more beaten tracks of travel. Recalling our 
experiences I would suggest that our followers 
take advantage of our knowledge and do as we 
did : go to the Yellowstone via the Beaver 
Canon route of the Union Pacific, and leave it 
via the Northern Pacific. By so doing, two im- 
portant advantages will be gained. Plrst, you 
will save the annoyance of " doubling on your 
tracks," which all good trav^ellers are anxious 
to avoid doing ; and secondly, you will find fea- 
tures along the hundred-mile ride from Beaver 
Canon to the Park which do not exist in the 
Yellowstone. If fond of hunting or fishing, if 
not afraid of a few discomforts, if liking the 
free companionship of Nature, take the Beaver 
Canon route. Its present simplicity will not 
last forever. The old log-cabins where you 



l8o SHOSHONE. 

rest to-day will soon be gone, replaced by 
** hotels," with their modern luxuries but utter 
lack of that quaint flavor which the present 
homely houses have ; the winding trails you 
follow now, and which lead through woods of 
virgin freshness, and by the side of quiet rivers, 
will be the road-bed of a railroad. The West, 
as seen from the window of a car, is not the 
country introduced by the stage-coach. With all 
additional comfort, there is a loss of something 
which you cannot define, perhaps, but which 
will be understood by those who have driven 
at a ten-mile-an-hour pace through almost un- 
broken solitudes. 

There is a regular line of stages from Beaver 
Canon to the Park. From the railroad to Firehole 
Basin, near the southern end of the Yellowstone, 
the distance is a little less than one hundred miles. 
Leaving Beaver early in the morning. Snake 
River Crossing is reached at evening. Resting 
there over night, the journey is continued the 
following day, a noon halt being made at Man- 
ley's Cabin, in the Madison Valley, and the drive 
ended at Firehole in the evening. Portions of 
the road are rough, and the accommodations are 
primitive. But he who does not object to im- 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. l8l 

material annoyances need have no fear. If 
tired, you have but to rest at either Snake River 
Crossing or Manley's or at Henry's Lake ; and 
those who prefer may engage their own teams 
of the Stage Company, and make camp along 
the road wherever the beauties of Nature tempt 
them to linger. 

Beaver Canon station is a night's ride north 
of Pocatello, on the Utah & Northern Road. 
Parallel ranges of hills guard the little town on 
the east and west, and past it flows a creek that 
winds down a valley which the stage line follows 
a few miles before turning directly east toward 
the Park. Our stage-and-four was ready on our 
arrival, and long before the sun was fairly above 
the hills we had taken our seats and were clatter- 
ing down the canon. The day was perfect, — a 
cloudless sky above, the air fresh, the dust set- 
tled by a rain of the night before. In a team 
that followed us were our boxes and trunks ; 
and snugly stowed away among them sat the 
artist, with camera ready for work, and con- 
tentment shining from above blond beard and 
beneath the artistic broad-brimmed hat. 

Once out of the canon the prospect broad- 
ened. Away to the southeast rose the moun- 



1 82 SHOSHONE. 

tains of the Wind River country, In Wyoming, 
and due east were the peaks surrounding the 
Yellowstone. Nearer at hand bush-grown slopes 
and tree-covered ridges rose abruptly from out 
the levels and extended far north to the moun- 
tain ranges of Montana. Cattle were feeding 
on the sun-dried tufts of grass scattered over 
the plains, and there was a happy mingling of 
harmonious colors. 

You cannot photograph the far-reaching vistas 
of the West ; they must be seen to be appre- 
ciated. Their lights and shadows are ever 
changing. To-day the more distant peaks are 
the faintest possible blue, and you can scarce 
distinguish their outlines. Again, the same 
mountains stand boldly forth, their rough sides 
clearly revealed and their colors most pro- 
nounced. The peculiar character of the atmos- 
phere is the cause, in a great measure, of this 
ever changing appearance of natural objects. 
The neutral gray of the east rarely exists; in- 
stead there is a pale blue tint, deeper at one 
time than at another, but forever forming a vast 
sea of visible air through which the white moun- 
tain peaks and the dark green forests reveal 
their individual hues. You will notice this fact 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 83 

wherever you may be among the Rockies. Dis- 
tant hills are seemingly brought within your very 
reach ; and the shadows in the canons are black 
as night. As we drove slowly along over the 
brown levels stretching far southward, our minds 
were affected by the benign influences which the 
region exerted. The delicious air, neither hot 
nor cold, the extended views, the brilliant color- 
ings, the sense of freedom from all prosaic con- 
ventionality, were conditions by virtue of which 
life was given a new meaning. Its dull realities 
were felt no more. If tired of one view we had 
but to look in another direction to find a differ- 
ent one. The low hillsides at our left were cov- 
ered with scattered groups of pines and asps, 
brilliant with color, and in the depressions of 
the mountains were dreamy gorges opening 
upon broad grassy meadows. 

Twenty-five miles from Beaver are the Camas 
Meadows, long wide levels enclosed by hills and 
mountains and covered with grasses as brown as 
those of the plains. Here we had our luncheon, 
eating it in the open air, the fields surrounding 
and the mountains guarding us. Near us ran a 
little stream, clear as crystal, and on its left bank 
stood the log-cabin of a pioneer, — a rude shel- 



1 84 SHOSHONE. 

ter, but one not without its interest and phase 
of Hfe away out here in the wilderness. In a 
corral near the house were a score of fresh 
horses, four of which our driver selected for 
the afternoon journey. 

Our camera was an object of peculiar interest 
to the lonely woman who lived in the cabin. It 
was rarely that she saw so good a chance to have 
her children photographed, she told the artist, 
and she wanted his terms at once. Not being 
able to give her immediate results, the trade fell 
through. The family consisted of the father, 
mother, and two children, the latter being the 
picture of health. The parents had moved to 
Camas from Missouri, and were not enthusiastic 
over their new quarters. The winters were terri- 
bly cold, they said, and there was little time in 
the year for farming. They ** guessed " they 
should move in the fall. Just before we left, the 
small boy brought his gun for us to see. There 
was fine hunting, he said. The meadows were 
full of sage-hens and rabbits, and he always 
could catch as many trout as he liked. Both 
the children were talkative, but the older mem- 
bers of the family were heavy and taciturn. 

Getting well away from Camas we found the 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 85 

country less level than before, and our road ran 
nearer the mountains. In the southeast were 
the " Three Tetons," now standing out in majes- 
tic prominence, their sharp peaks white with 
snow, and the sides of deepest blue. Directly 
eastward, in the direction of the Park, chain 
after chain of hills appeared in sight, some soft 
with haze, but others as clearly outlined as 
though they were ten, instead of a hundred or 
more, miles away. 

It was now that we began to meet the several 
tributaries of the Snake River. They were mere 
brooks, as a rule, wide but shallow, and coursed 
through grass-grown fields. The names given 
to the streams and their different valleys were 
suggested by the few events that have happened 
in the neighborhood. Bottle Creek, for instance, 
is so called from the fact that Generals Sherman 
and Sheridan happened to meet and make camp 
on its banks. On the departure of these two 
famous men, the number of bottles left behind 
gave the creek its name. This story of our 
driver may not be true, but locally it is thought 
to be. Antelope Creek and Shot Gun are names 
of equally uncertain origin. Near the latter lives 
a trapper whose log-cabin is decorated on roof 



1 86 



SHOSHONE. 



and sides with sun-bleached trophies of the hunt. 
Huge antlers are suspended over the narrow 
doorway, and skins of animals are tacked to 
every sunny place. 

It was nearly sunset before we caught sight of 
the Snake, and the day had ended before we 
reached and forded it. Just across the stream 








SNAKE RIVER CROSSING. 



stood the row of cabins which some adventurous 
landlord has built for the accommodation of 
passing travellers. The forests come close down 
to the rear of the houses, and a few tall pines 
stand guard in front. The Snake at this cross- 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 8/ 

ing is less than twenty rods wide, but flows 
with considerable swiftness and is of crystal 
clearness. A foot-bridge of logs connects the 
two banks, and there is a flat-bottomed boat 
which one may charter if desirous of making 
a trip to the quiet coves where trout are to be 
found. 

It was like meeting an old friend to see the 
river again. Throwing a chip into the current, 
I wondered how soon it would reach Shoshone. 
Not long, indeed, if it went so swiftly all the way 
as at first. Possibly it would escape the drift- 
wood below the Falls, and would sail on and on 
until it reached the Columbia and the Pacific. 
There is a sort of fascination in watching rivers 
like the Snake. They are full of courage, poor 
innocents ! and are ever hurrying on to what they 
cannot foresee is their destiny. I am sure this 
by which we rested would never have been in 
so great haste had it known of its long, dark 
canon far beyond, and of its wonderful leap into 
a misty gulf. 

After supper we adjourned to the dimly 
lighted kitchen to talk with the trappers, who 
had just come in with their load of game. The 
spokesman w^as a most voluble individual, and 



l88 SHOSHONE. 

SO fired our enthusiasm that we were more than 
half inchned to abandon our teams and take to 
the woods. If there was game in the world, he 
said, it was here in the forests that surrounded 
us. Bear? Yes. Elk? In abundance. Deer 
and antelope? Yes. He had seen a dozen elk 
in a week, and had that day killed a few. He 
could not begin to tell us of the sport there was. 
He had been a hunter in the region for years, 
and knew every nook and corner in the place. 
Far away to the south the country is covered 
with dense forests and a succession of moun- 
tain ridges. North of the Snake the valley is 
without timber. The hills are low and covered 
with sage brush and scattered tufts of tall grass. 
Here is the paradise of bird shooting, the creeks 
and sage being the resort of countless wild duck 
and prairie hens. Among the mountains that 
border the northern side of the valley is found 
the larger game. Numerous hunting parties 
make the cabins at First Crossing their camp, 
and from it take long tramps into the wilderness 
of backwoods. The trappers we talked with 
support themselves by their rifles, and have 
hardly known any other life than the one they 
now lead. During the Indian wars they acted 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 



89 



as scouts for a season, but when the troubles 
ended went back to the woods. 

The twenty-five mile drive from the crossing 
of the Snake to Manley's Cabin was so attract- 




FORDING THE SNAKE. 



ive that we gave a day to it. For the first few 
miles the road led through the woods. On our 
one side were had occasional glimpses of the 
river, but to the right were thickly growing 
trees. Later we crossed the stream, stopping 
midway to enjoy its great beauty. Each bank 
was heavih' fringed with trees, drooping over 



IQO SHOSHONE. 

the water and mirrored in the placid surface. 
In a Httle cove near by stood a soHtary heron 
industriously fishing for his breakfast, and be- 
yond were some ducks paddling contentedly 
about and unmindful of our presence. Not a 
sound, save the quiet murmur of the trees and 
river, disturbed the silence, and the air was 
heavy with the perfumes of the forest. The 
view was our last of the Snake. On gaining 
the opposite bank our route would be north- 
ward, while that of the river was due east. It 
was well, I thought, to see the stream as it 
now appeared. Placid itself, its surroundings 
were all in harmony ; and the river at last was 
beautiful, with no suggestion of having an evil 
spirit or of being boisterous and in haste. 

A few miles beyond we left the forests and 
entered a great circular basin, level and grassy, 
and enclosed by tree-covered hills. Directly 
across this ran our road, its course easily marked 
and the point where it climbed the hills clearly 
seen. The basin is known as Henry's Lake 
Bottom. It is ten miles wide by as many long, 
and at its upper end is Henry's Lake, — a 
bright-blue body of water filled with fish and 
fed by mountain streams. A cabin that stands 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 



91 



on the shores is a favorite camp for hunters, and 
Ls rarely without its visitors. In the meadows 
through which we drove were scores of wild 
herons. Listening, we could hear their melan- 
choly cries, and seeing us they took wing and 
leisurely flew away. 

Midway across the valley we had a taste of 
winter. Before aware that the sky was overcast, 
a violent storm swept down 
upon us. The rain fell in tor- 
rents, and hailstones pelted 




TYGHEE PASS. 



our wagon-top. In half an hour the ground was 
whitened, and a biting wind was blowing. Then, 



192 SHOSHONE. 

as suddenly as it came, the storm subsided, and 
the sun came out; and, as we slowly toiled up 
the steep slopes of Tyghee Pass, by which the 
road leads out of the basin, we could see the 
surrounding mountains robed in their dress of 
winter. To the east, from the top of the Pass, 
we looked into Madison Valley ; and westward 
could trace our long course and look down upon 
the lake and its remarkable surroundings. The 
asps and maples on the mountain-sides were all 
gold and crimson, the grasses were brown, and 
the lake a transparent blue. The air was like 
a tonic, and our blood flowed free and fast. 
Surrounding us was a glorious wilderness, all 
undisturbed by man, and so beautiful in concep- 
tion and creation that one felt it a sacrilege to 
speak. Forest and intervale, dark pines and 
trees alive with color, snowy peak and wood- 
crowned hill, were all crowded into view. 

A few years ago the most direct way to reach 
the Yellowstone Park from the West was by 
stage from Virginia City, Montana, to Henry's 
Lake, and thence by the road which is now fol- 
lowed. ■ The line was established during the 
Star Route period, and was heavily subsidized. 
When the frauds were discovered, the stages 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 93 

were taken off. The present route passes within 
a mile of the south shore of the hike, and not 
far from the log-cabin w^hich has long been the 
favorite camp of sportsmen. The house is open 
for visitors at all times. It overlooks the wide 
basin lying to the south, and commands an ex- 
tended view of the graceful hills and Sawtell's 
Peak, a high, flat-topped mountain rising to the 
west of the valley. The lake is fed by several 
streams flowing into it from the mountain gorges, 
and is filled with fish. In all the West there is 
not a prettier body of water, and I know of no 
valley with greater attractions for all lovers of 
Nature. It resembles the isolated bits one now 
and then finds tucked away among the Allegha- 
nies. All its streams are of fresh, clear water, 
and the slopes are carpeted with grasses that 
grow in the shade of pines, ash, and maple. 

From the top of Tyghee Pass we drove at 
once into the forests w^hich completely cover 
the long slopes of the western side of Madison 
Valley. For an hour or more the monotony 
was unrelieved. The trees surrounding us hid 
all outlines of the valley. At last, however, 
there were more extended outlooks, and from 
the grass-grown areas which had lost their pines, 
13 



194 SHOSHONE. 

or which had never had them, we could trace 
the outhnes of the far-away range which forms 
the eastern Hmits of the Madison Valley. It 
was forest-covered to its very top, and in the 
north joined the higher peaks of the great Gal- 
latin Mountains, which fill Eastern Montana and 
extend to the head-waters of the Missouri. Be- 
tween us and the range lay the great level, filled 
with forests, through which the river takes its 
course. The Madison is one of the great tribu- 
taries of the Missouri, and was named. by Lewis 
and Clarke. It has its source at the southern 
end of the Yellowstone Park, where it is known 
as the Firehole River, or South Fork of the 
Madison, and just before entering the canon by 
which it reaches the valley, receives the waters 
of the Gibbon River, one of the important 
streams of the Park. From the valley it flows 
northwesterly to a point north of the Gallatin 
Range where, with the Gallatin and the Jeffer- 
son, it forms the Missouri. Few rivers of the 
Northwest are longer than it or so tortuous, and 
none have birth in so strange a place ; for 
where the Madison rises the ground is covered 
with geyser cones, and its waters arc hot with 
the overflow from boiling springs. 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 95 

Toward sunset we reached Manley's Cabin. 
It stands on the left bank of the river and is 
built of rough-hewn logs, the spaces between 
which are plastered. On one side the house is 
flanked by an open corral, where Manley keeps 
his cattle. On the other extend the open fields 
across which we had driven, and all around 
which grow the forests. Tired with our long 
drive, the simple house seemed a palace of 
comforts. In the evening we sat around the fire, 
and Manley told us of his life. It was very un- 
eventful, he said, and in winter was most dreary. 
The storms were frequent and severe, and he 
was absolutely cut off from the outside world. 
In summer the visitors were numerous. Many 
made the cabin their head-quarters while on 
hunting trips about the country, and others 
stopped, as we had, for a night. For a living, 
Manley supplies the Park hotels with meat, eggs, 
and milk. In the future he hopes a railroad will 
reach his land and render it worth a tidy for- 
tune. At present, he told us, life was a struggle, 
and the income was discouragingly small. 

Our last day's drive was begun early and 
ended late in the afternoon. The air was crisp 
and cool on leaving Manley's, and patches of 



196 



SHOSHONE. 



frost-work lay upon the grasses. It was well 
into September now, and winter comes early in 
this mountain country. From the cabin we 
drove across the Madison, and were soon among 
the forests. It is not over ten miles from one 








;.':V/<.. 



MANLEY S CABIN. 



side of the valley to the other; but the road 
follows the course of an old trail, that was made 
for the especial benefit of those who wished to 
keep near the river, and greatly increases the 
distance. We rarely lost sight of the Madison, 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 97 

and at times drove along its banks. It is a 
pretty stream, this far-away tributary of the 
great Missouri. Its valley is heavily wooded 
and has a series of parks, or intervales, which 
are as level as a floor and thickly carpeted with 
grasses. Some of these openings have been 
caused by fire, which has swept away the trees, 
and others are purely natural, free, even, from 
underbrush, and as neat and trim as though 
given daily care. Why they should have been 
left in the very depths of the forests, is a mys- 
tery. That they have been is a blessing, for 
they greatly relieve the monotony of a forest 
drive. We were constantly driving into and 
across them, and in one we stopped for lunch- 
eon and to give the tired horses a rest and bite 
of the grass. The pines in the Madison Valley 
are small in circumference, but are of great 
height. The country round about is overrun 
with game. Once, on gaining the top of a low 
ridge, we came upon a band of half-a-dozen 
antelope. The wind being from them to us, 
they were taken completely by surprise. But 
on seeing us they were off on the instant, — 
rapidly moving flashes of dull-red and white. 
Half-way across the valley is the western line 



198 SHOSHONE. 

of the National Park. Reaching it we came 
upon the miHtary camp established there. The 
commanding officer and his men were away, 
but the cook gave us welcome. The post is not 
at all formidable to look at, and life there must 
prove rather a dull existence. The duty mainly 
consists in protecting the game within the Park 
limits from molestation. You can hunt and 
fish up to the very borders of the Yellowstone ; 
but woe betide you if, in your enthusiasm, you 
chase a deer across the line, or allow your trout 
to entice you over the border ! If caught tres- 
passing, you will be arrested, your hard-earned 
game confiscated, your rifle taken away, and 
you yourself escorted to head-quarters at the 
Mammoth Hot Springs. There you may tell your 
story. If believed, your sentence will be light: 
a fine, perhaps, or a reprimand. If not be- 
lieved, you will be forwarded to higher officials 
and dealt with as they please. 

Dividing the western outskirts of the Park 
from Firehole, or Lower Geyser Basin, is a high, 
narrow ridge of land over which the wagon 
road climbs by an ascent so steep that, in pity 
for the horses, we sent the teams ahead and 
followed them afoot. At first the view was 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 99 

obstructed by the forests ; but later they were 
left far below us, and at the top of the divide 
the valley could be seen from end to end. 
Down its centre ran the Madison, winding in 
and out among the trees ; far away in the dis- 
tance was the clearing that surrounds Manley's 
Cabin. The view was panoramic, embracing 
a vast area of levels and hills, high peaks and 
dark-green forests. In all the broad expanse 
not a house could be seen. There was not a 
trace, not even a suggestion, of civilization. 
In spots the forests were dead and the trees 
white and ghost-like ; but as a rule there was 
a continuous mass of green, lighted by the 
river and overlooked by mountain-peaks freshly 
sprinkled with newly fallen snow. 

To the north of this last climb is the famous 
canon of the Madison. Through it the river 
flows on its way from Firehole to the valley. 
In time it is proposed to extend the stage road 
through this winding, romantic pass, and thus 
save the hard pull over the divide. If ever the 
Union Pacific is built to the borders of the 
Park, its terminus will be in the Madison Valley, 
and the only stage-ride will be that through the 
canon. Surveys to this end have already been 



200 SHOSHONE. 

made, and Government has been asked to aid 
in making the road-bed that will follow the 
river to Firehole. 

With a last long look at the country westward, 
we turned to the east and drove rapidly down- 
grade toward the Park whose strange features 
give it the name of "Wonderland." The Madi- 
son and its valley were soon lost to sight. 
We had reached the end of the Beaver Canon 
road. Once more the forests surrounded us, and 
the old jolting stage creaked and groaned be- 
neath the pressure of the brakes. Our driver, 
noticing our silence, said he " guessed we kind 
o' felt sorry to have th' drive end." 

He was an admirable man, in his way, this 
driver of ours. He had his peculiarities, as we 
all have ; but his temper was so serene that I 
envied him. If a leader became balky, he was 
never worried ; if the climb was hard, he never 
thought of easing the load by walking. To 
all appearances he was a part of the seat he 
occupied. He talked little, and did not know 
one mountain from another. But he could tell 
in a moment when we, seated behind him, were 
having luncheon, and was always ready to join 
us. For a day I thought him rough and un- 



A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 201 

couth and, possibly, worse than this. But at 
Snake River Crossing I found him seated in a 
corner holding a bright-haired little girl on his 
lap. *'It's mine," he said, in answer to my 
look of inquiry. Later he told me of his young 
wife, a cook at one of the hotels, and of his 
baby girl. *' 'T ain 't no easy work in this coun- 
try feedin' 'em," he said, '' an' they can't dress 
much. But they 're a heap o' comfort, an' th' 
little one just dotes on taking a ride with me." 
After this, whenever I saw the man giving the 
horses their own way, I was sure his thoughts 
were wandering away to the coming winter, 
when, as he told me, he was " goin' to settle 
down an' have th' fam'ly with him." 



Chapter IX. 

AMONG THE GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 

A CHAPTER on the Yellowstone must be 
about as satisfactory as a magazine article 
on America. In neither can you do full justice 
to the subject. I can suggest the features of the 
Park, but must leave to the guide-books all 
statistical description. As a matter of fact, the 
Yellowstone is so filled with natural curiosities, 
so overburdened with strange creations that 
have no counterpart anywhere in the world, that 
I doubt if any one who does not himself visit 
the place can form the least conception of its 
appearance. In certain portions it is a strange, 
weird storehouse of natural wonders ; in others 
it is so beautiful that an artist cannot repro- 
duce the gorgeous colorings. The geysers, the 
volcanic and calcareous formations, the Grand 
Canon, the Falls of the Yellowstone, the Hot 
Springs, are all unique. The inspiration of stu- 




FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 205 

dents, they are likewise the source of unbounded 
dehght to every beholder. They captivate the 
ignorant as well as the learned, and to the 
majority of beholders are wonderfully incom- 
prehensible and full of fascinating interest. 

On recommendation of Dr. E. V. Hayden, the 
eminent geologist and explorer, the Yellowstone 
National Park was wisely set apart by Congress, 
in 1872, for the ''benefit and enjoyment of the 
people." The reservation, as the Park may 
more properly be termed, lies mainly in the 
northwestern corner of Wyoming, and extends 
slightly into Idaho and Montana. It is fifty- 
five miles long by sixty-five wide, and includes, 
therefore, 3,575 square miles, or 2,288,000 acres. 
The surface features present a great diversity of 
character, the lowlands bearing a general resem- 
blance to the parks of Colorado, and the ranges 
enclosing the vast region having the indescri- 
bable grandeur so characteristic of the Rocky 
Mountain system. The peaks rising high above 
these encircling walls dominate the entire land- 
scape. From them the valleys of the Yellow- 
stone and of the Gardiner may be traced for 
miles through the broken country which they 
traverse, and the Park, with its undulating table- 



206 SHOSHONE. 

lands, dark forests, and countless thermal springs, 
is visible from end to end. 

It is a mistaken idea that the Yellowstone 
abounds in grand scenery. All its central area 
consists of forest-grown table-lands that are ex- 
ceedingly monotonous, and from which the views 
are restricted. The only large mountain masses 
within the limits of the Park Plateau, as this 
area is called, are the Red Mountain and Wash- 
burne Ranges. Both have steep, but rounded 
outlines, with rudely conical summits which rise 
from three thousand to four thousand feet above 
the Plateau. The ranges are heavily wooded, 
and their lower slopes are covered with nutri- 
tious grasses which serve as food for the wild 
game that now abounds within the limits of the 
reservation. The average elevation of the Plateau 
is 7,500 to 8,500 feet, and its geological forma- 
tions are entirely volcanic, composed for the 
most part of light-colored rhyolites. Volcanic 
conglomerates reach in places a depth of two 
to four thousand feet, and two of the ranges, 
the Yellowstone and the Washburne, are almost 
entirely composed of them. The older sedi- 
mentary groups, from the Cretaceous to the 
Silurian, occupv but limited areas now, but 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 20/ 

once extended over the entire district. A num- 
ber of specimens of fossil plants, obtained in the 
Park in 1872, indicate the existence of the Lara- 
mie, or Fort Union group. In a map published 
in one of Dr. Hayden's reports on the Yellow- 
stone, the ancient outlines of the Great Lake, 
now occupying the southern end of the Park, 
are shown to have extended over a major por- 
tion of the country, thus proving that the water 
area near the sources of the largest rivers in the 
most elevated section of the West has dimin- 
ished more than one half. The country has so 
changed since the period of its lake occupancy, 
that were it not for the erosion of the Yellow- 
stone Valley no parts of the sedimentary strata, 
except those forming the higher summits of the 
East Gallatin Mountains, would appear. The 
geologic history is most interesting. The story 
of the glacial period and of the great displace- 
ments, synchronous with the general Rocky 
Mountain uplift, will explain the greatly di- 
versified appearance of our Wonderland more 
clearly than can one who now sees the results 
that were accomplished. Glaciers existed on 
an extensive scale, and in exploring the deep 
valleys of the higher ranges geologists are con- 



208 SHOSHONE. 

stantly finding the rounded rocks which the great 
rivers of ice have left to mark their course. 
In the Wind River and Teton Mountains gla- 
ciers still exist, and at times descend to an ele- 
vation of less than five thousand feet. That they 
once covered the entire Park Plateau area is 
asserted with assurance by many students of 
glacial effect. 

The lowest elevation in the Park is 5,360 feet, 
at the mouth of Gardiner's River; the highest 
is 11,155 feet, Electric Peak, in the Gallatin 
Range. The continental water-shed crosses the 
Park in the southwestern part, and is flat and ill- 
defined. It enters west of the Lower Geyser 
Basin, and leaves at a point south of the south 
arm of the Yellowstone Lake. On its one side 
are the sources of the streams that join the 
Snake River; on its north are those that are 
tributaries of the Missouri. Few visit the south- 
ern slopes of the divide, but confine their atten- 
tion to that portion of the Park bordering the 
Yellowstone, the Madison, the Gardiner, and the 
streams of smaller size that flow through the for- 
ests and down the many canons until reaching 
the great Missouri. The Yellowstone alone has 
a drainage area of nineteen hundred square 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 209 

miles, and possesses the most beautiful and 
picturesque features of any river in the Park. 
It flows at the base of the i^reat Yellowstone 
Range, forming the eastern barrier of the Park, 
and is bordered on the west by the mountains 
of the Washburne group. Its course is nearly 
northwest until reaching the huge shoulders of 
the Gallatin Range, filling the northern end of 
the reservation and extending over into Mon- 
tana, when it turns due north down a wide valley 
enclosed by white-capped peaks that are land- 
marks for miles around. 

The season during which the Yellowstone Park 
may be visited extends from the last of June to 
the middle of September. At other times the 
hotels are closed and the roads obstructed by 
deep snow. In winter the region is Arctic in 
temperature and in appearance. Mountains and 
hills, valleys and minor streams are buried, and 
the cold is intense. The rising vapors of the 
boiling springs cover the trees with fantastic 
decoration, and terrible avalanches tear their 
way through the forests. The place is deserted 
by all save the keepers at the hotels and the 
wild animals who make the Park their home. 
Mr. Haynes, the official photographer of the 
H 



2IO SHOSHONE. 

Yellowstone, was successful in reaching the 
Lower Geyser Basin a few winters ago; but, 
with that one exception, I know of no explorer 
who has dared brave the Arctic weather of the 
snow-bound place. 

The first authentic information regarding the 
National Park is derived from the report of 
Captain W. W. De Lacy, who conducted a party 
to the Lower Basin in 1863. The region was 
then comparatively unknown. Even the trap- 
pers of the Northwest had little faith in the ex- 
istence of its natural wonders, and all pretending 
to have acquaintance with them were regarded 
as unreliable romancers. The first white man 
to explore the district was undoubtedly a man 
named Coulter, who belonged to the Lewis and 
Clarke expedition. On the return of that ex- 
pedition Coulter, at his own request, was dis- 
charged near the mouth of the Yellowstone, and 
immediately returned to the country above the 
forks of the Missouri. There his companion 
was killed by the Blackfeet Indians, and Coulter 
himself made a captive. On his escape, some 
time later, he joined the Bannocks, a tribe 
whose range then included the Park area. It 
was either during his captivity or voluntary life 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 211 

with the Bannocks that Coulter gained his 
knowledge of the country of hot springs and 
geysers; for in 1810, on his return to St. Louis, 
he is reported as telling strange tales that were 
interesting, but of course highly improbable. 
Even so late as 1859 none really believed that 
there was anything really remarkable in the Yel- 
lowstone, and all reports regarding the phenom- 
ena were considered but idle tales. The region 
had its visitors, no doubt ; but the man who could 
tell what he saw without exaggeration, seems 
to have been lacking. In his report for 1878 
Colonel Norris mentions finding a block house 
near the Grand Caiion, and elsewhere of a cache 
of marten traps and other relics of early trappers. 
The report of Captain De Lacy attracted little 
attention. In 1869 two prospectors entered the 
Park and went as far south as the lake, crossing 
from there to the Geyser Basins. Their story at 
once became widely known, and created much 
excitement. The following year a large party 
of Montana settlers, under the lead of General 
Washburne, then surveyor-general, made an ex- 
tended survey of the Park, visiting most of the 
places known to-day. When near the head of 
the lake Mr. Evarts, a member of the expedition. 



212 SHOSHONE. 

became separated from his companions and was 
lost. After suffering great hardships he was 
found near the Mammoth Hot Springs. It is in 
his honor that the name Mount Evarts is given to 
the high peak which overlooks the narrow valley 
containing the great lime terraces that are now 
so often visited. In 1871 Dr. Hayden made his 
memorable journey, the report of which was 
presented to Congress, and since that year the 
Park has rarely been without its visitors. Count- 
less descriptions of its beauties and wonders 
have been published, and the reports of the 
Government Geologists, issued from time to 
time, have given the scientific explanation of 
whatever is strange and phenomenal. In 1877 
the Nez Perces Indians raided the Park, killing 
several people and destroying whatever property 
they could find. They we,re pursued by General 
O. O. Howard, who followed nearly the exact 
course of the Beaver Canon route through 
Tyghee Pass, and across the Madison Valley. 
In 1878 the Bannock Indians entered the Park, 
and were captured by General Nelson A. Miles. 
At present the Indians are under complete con- 
trol, and the Park is without dangers of any kind. 
It is under the charge of a general superintend- 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 213 

cut, and careful watch is placed over the most 
frequently visited places to see that none of the 
formations are mutilated. 

The so-called lower, which is really the north- 
ern, end of the Yellowstone contains the famous 
lime formations known as the Mammoth Hot 
Springs. A day's stage-ride due southward are 
the Lower and Upper Geyser Basins. Midway 
between these two features of interest, but lying 
to the eastward, are the Canon and Grand Falls 
of the Yellowstone River. Directly northeast of 
the Geyser Basins is the Yellowstone Lake. An 
ordinary tour of the Park means a visit to these 
several places. The Government has built a 
series of roads connecting them ; and large 
hotels, all under one management, have been 
erected at Norris and the two more southerly 
Geyser Basins, at the Canon, and at the Hot 
Springs. The latter hotel is of huge size, and 
has many of the modern conveniences. The 
others are smaller, and make little attempt at 
either beauty or comfort. They serve the brief 
demands made upon them, however, and one 
need fear no material privations while visiting 
the Wonderland country. In time the Govern- 
ment roads will be so extended as to make the 



214 SHOSHONE. 

stage-ride less long and hard than at present; 
and one may then have the additional pleasure 
of going to the lake, now rather remote and in- 
accessible to all save those who do not mind 
rough riding and primitive accommodations. 

As we descended the wooded ridge over which 
we had cHmbed from the Madison Valley, there 
were views eastward through the trees of the 
Firehole Basin, toward which our road led. 
The air was filled with the strong sulphurous 
odor which is peculiar to the region, and scat- 
tered over the grass-grown levels were rising 
clouds of mist, born of the boiling hot springs. 
Far beyond the limits of the valley the hill-sides 
were thickly overgrown with forests, and in the 
extreme distance were tall white peaks. The 
wood through which we passed led down to the 
very edge of the basin, and there were even 
scattered masses of trees in the valley itself 
But the long, wide stretches of grass were every- 
where dotted with the geyser springs, here gath- 
ered into groups and sending forth dense volumes 
of steam, and again completely isolated and hav- 
ing a field all green and fair except the one weird 
spot from which the heated waters poured their 
rising clouds. 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 2l^ 

Looking for the first time upon the geysers 
and hot springs of the Park, one experiences a 
pecLiHar sensation. He grows distrustful of the 
very ground beneath his feet, feeling that even 
there may be mysterious caverns where the air 
is filled with sulphur gases, and where heated 
waters are ready to burst through the walls that 
hold them down. Both the Upper and Lower 
Geyser Basins are fairly honeycombed. In what- 
ever direction you look are the same masses 
of cloud-like vapor, outlined against the forests 
behind them ; the same brilliantly colored pools, 
with delicately tinted rims ; and, far away, the 
silent, white-robed peaks. You may tire of the 
geysers, and grow indifferent to the cause of their 
existence; but the general features of the Park 
landscape — its vastness, its varied coloring, its 
bold mingling of the grand and of the pictur- 
esque — you can never forget nor cease to appre- 
ciate and enjoy. The air at all times, and particu- 
larly in the early fall, is wonderfully pure, bracing, 
and clear, and the sky is rarely overcast. As the 
sunlight falls upon the great unbroken forests 
and strangely fashioned geyser cones, the effect 
is indescribably charming. Each hue is intensi- 
fied, as on the ground-glass of a camera; and 



2l6 SHOSHONE. 

day by day the Park grows more fascinating and 
replete with interest. Its scenery is often sug- 
gestive of that of other parts of the Rocky Moun- 
tain country. But as surely as you are ready 
to say this is so, the sudden appearance of a 
boiling hot spring, or the ghost-like uprising 
of a geyser stream will enforce the fact that, 
notwithstanding the occasional similarity, the 
Yellowstone is still a region peculiar to itself, 
strangely fashioned and impressive to a marked 
degree. 

The ten-mile drive from P'irehole to Upper 
Geyser Basin has, in addition to its other features, 
the charm of certain novelty. To one fresh from 
the comparatively prosaic outside world, the 
sight of acres of steaming pools, of blood-red 
basins, and of incrusted fields from which comes 
a noise as of hissing serpents, and over which 
hovers a white shroud of mist, is a revelation. 
And when you at last come within range of the 
many active geysers that give the Upper Basin its 
name ; when you hear them, now low murmuring, 
now giving out a loud, despairing cry ; when you 
see the tall columns of water, smoking-hot, leap- 
ing skyward and filling the air with vapor, — you 
are ready to acknowledge that all preconceived 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 21/ 

ideas of the Park were but vague and shadowy, 
and that the reality far surpasses even your wildest 
expectations. 

Nearly midway between Firehole and the Up- 
per Geyser Basin is a bit of lowland that has the 
most appropriate name of " Hell's Half Acre." 
Forests, still green and fresh, enclose the noisy, 
vapory place, but the half acre itself is one of 
wailing spirits. The treacherous crust, through 
which numerous springs find a vent, is burning- 
hot, and one never know^s when it will give way 
beneath his weight. The air is filled with sul- 
phur fumes, and the whitened trunks of once 
stately pines, now being slowly buried beneath 
the incrustation, are like the giant arms of the 
doomed, vainly reaching forth for help, but 
relentlessly held by unseen hands. 

The scientific name of the springs to which 
the local guide-books give the Satanic title I 
have quoted, is the Half Way Group, or Egeria 
Springs. There are thirty-nine different springs 
altogether, and two of them are among the most 
famous in the Park. The Grand Prismatic Spring 
is the largest, and measures two hundred and 
fifty by three hundred and fifty feet. Its color- 
ing is wonderfully and indescribably brilliant 



2l8 SHOSHONE. 

and varied. The outer rim of the huge opening, 
from which rise dense clouds of steam, is of a 
bright red deposit, and between it and the blue- 
green water are circles of yellow, orange, brown, 
purples, and grays. Each hue is distinctly 
marked, and is intensified by a ground-work of 
grayish white. Next to the Prismatic is Tor- 
quoise Spring, intensely blue and overflowing 
through a long trough which is white on the 
bottom and has edges of salmon color and 
brown. Close to it is the Cliff Caldron, or Ex- 
celsior Geyser, three hundred and thirty feet in 
length and two hundred feet wide, the largest 
orifice in the Yellowstone. Until the year 1880, 
when its first eruption was witnessed, no one 
knew that the geyser was more than a spring. 
In that year, however, it manifested its power, 
and earned the right to its present reputation. 
The eruptions continued at irregular intervals 
from September 27 to October 7. The greatest 
height which the column of ejected water at- 
tained at any one time was three hundred feet. 
Rocks weighing many pounds were hurled high 
above the rising stream, and the Firehole River, 
which runs near by, became a foaming flood of 
boiling water. At present the geyser is enjoying 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 219 

a long period of rest, and the water is twenty 
feet below the walls of the steaming cavern. It 
is constantly boiling over, however, and has 
formed a series of terraces traversed by deep, 
beautifully tinted channels. 

One of the stories told in early days was to 
the effect that the Yellowstone Park had great 
areas of petrified sage, '* with all the leaves and 
branches in perfect condition, while the rabbits 
and sage hens were still there, perfectly petrified 
but as natural as when living; and more won- 
derful yet, the petrified bushes bear the most 
wonderful fruit, — diamonds, rubies, and emer- 
alds as large as walnuts." " The story," says Dr. 
Hayden in one of his reports, '' has a large basis 
of fact, absurd as it sounds. There are fields 
of sage, as well as bits of forest, which, lying in 
the immediate vicinity of springs, have been 
petrified while standing. The hot, silicious 
water is drawn up through the pores of the 
wood, and between the wood and the bark, by 
capillary attraction, and, depositing silica wher- 
ever it goes, transforms the tree or brush into 
rock." As for the fruit, it is borne on the out- 
side and inside of the trunks of the trees, rather 
than on their branches. The trunks are con- 



220 SHOSHONE. 

verted into crystalline quartz, — amethystine or 
yellow, — and it is this which gives the *' moun- 
tain man " his diamonds as large as walnuts. 
Some of the crystals on the trees near Excelsior 
were gorgeously colored, and for a moment we 
rather regretted not being able to take a few of 
them away with us. 

It was a relief to reach the living forests again. 
The road led along the banks of Firchole River 
and made frequent crossings of the stream over 
rustic bridges. With few exceptions there was 
no suggestion of the near presence of geysers 
and boiling springs. Now and then a thin cloud 
of vapor could be seen far in the quiet seclusion 
of the forest; but as a rule there were only 
sylvan shades and the fast-running river, bright 
and clear as those among the mountains. 

Gaining an elevated point of lookout, the 
scene changed again. Directly before us was 
spread the long, narrow valley, which is to-day 
the marvel of the world. The Upper Geyser 
Basin has no counterpart. Its spouting foun- 
tains, its colors, and its formations are all un- 
equalled phenomena. Through nearly the centre 
of the valley speeds the winding river; and on 
its either bank are grouped the geysers, — some 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 221 

with castle-like cones of chalky whiteness, others 
mere circular bowds in whose depths one may 
see the troubled waters preparing for their sud- 
den leap high into mid-air. Within the place — 
which ever seems enchanted — you are encircled 
by wooded hills, — a dull-green background to 
the white cones and whiter water-spouts ; and the 
ground, save for its scattered basins of blue and 
pink, gold and red, is like a chalk-bed, —soft to 
the touch and crumbling with chemical action. 

Here, surely, is the Wonderland whose fea- 
tures the guide-books so minutely describe. 
The entire area of the basin is nearly four square 
miles. It is well timbered, and the soil where 
there are no spring deposits is a dark volcanic 
sand. Near the river the formation is calca- 
reous, and rises above the level of the stream 
to a height of from ten to twenty feet. The 
first descriptions of the springs and geysers were 
given by members of the Washburne expedi- 
tion ; later information has been gained through 
the Government Geologists who visit the basin 
nearly every year. More than four hundred 
and fifty springs have already been named, and 
of these are many which are distincdy geysers. 
From the balcony of the hotel a score of th 



em 



222 



SHOSHONE. 



may be seen. Some send forth high spiral 
columns; others are mere fountains, rising and 
falling in obedience to the unseen forces. One 
famous geyser, Old Faithful, has an hourly 




OLD FAITHFUL. 



eruption. Its cream-white cone forms the apex 
of a low mound near the hotel, and from 
this, preceding every action, issue loud, hoarse 
groans and waves of heated air. Far down 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 223 

the chimney-like opening you can see the surg- 
ing waters, now filHng the gloomy depths, then 
disappearing, and finally bursting forth in a 
torrent and shooting skyward like a rocket. 
For five minutes the gorgeous spectacle lasts, 
and the slopes of the mound are overrun with 
steaming rivulets. Then the eruption ceases. 
With a few despairing efforts the waters return 
to their caverns, and the cone is only an empty 
shell, bluish-white within, and like a block of 
incrusted marble on the outside. The actual 
height which the waters attain is two hundred 
feet. The stream itself is six feet in diameter, 
and falls in a graceful arc that ends in a glit- 
tering shower. The eruptions occur at regular 
intervals of every fifty-seven minutes. 

Among the largest and best-known geysers of 
the Upper Basin are the Bee Hive, with a cone 
of such shape as easily to suggest the name, and 
from which the fountain rises 200 feet; the 
Giant, — diameter 7 feet, height 140 feet, dura- 
tion 3 hours; the Giantess, — diameter 18 feet, 
height of extreme jet 250 feet, duration 20 
minutes; the Grand, — diameter 20 to 25 feet, 
height 250 feet, duration 20 minutes ; the Grotto, 
— diameter 4 feet, height 60 feet, duration 30 



224 SHOSHONE. 

minutes ; the Castle, — diameter 5 feet, and 
height 50 feet; and the Fan, — 60 feet high, 
and duration from 10 to 30 minutes. The 
cones of the Castle and Grotto are indescriba- 
bly beautiful. They are of pearly whiteness, and 
are lined with mother-of-pearl tints that glow 
like masses of opal. The Giantess has no rim 
to its bowl, and when inactive the waters are 
out of sight. During its period of eruption, 
however, the bowl is filled to overflowing ; and 
when the moment of greatest activity arrives the 
waters are hurled forth in a body, the major 
portion rising only a few feet and then falling 
back, but slender jets shoot far above the open- 
ing, and rise higher with every loud pulsation of 
the heavily breathing monster. Standing near 
this throbbing creature, then manifesting its 
enormous strength, we felt the earth tremble, 
the air was filled with groans, and the river- 
banks were deluged with the steaming floods. 
For days the pool had shown signs of distress, 
the waters boiling and the steam rising in dense 
clouds. At times the agitation grew more pro- 
nounced ; and visitors, leaving the other geysers, 
rushed to it, hoping that the time of the great 
eruption had arrived. At last, toward sundown. 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 225 

the moment came. From its hot resting-place 
there arose a tremulous wall of water that grew 
in height before our very eyes. Like a wind- 
swept lake, shot into mid-air, it hung suspended 
above the pool. Then, thrusting forth its tall 
spires of minute particles, it fell to earth again 
and swelled the volume of the river. 

One who has never seen them can form no 
conception of the cones from which the waters 
of the several geysers escape. In the distance 
they resemble white-walled castles ; and a closer 
inspection reveals a multitude of brilliant colors. 
The walls vary in height from eight to eleven 
feet above the crest of the formation which they 
crown, and are composed of hardened cream- 
white silica. The Castle Geyser cone stands on 
a mound forty feet higher than the river, and is 
the most picturesque feature of the Upper Basin. 
A thin column of steam continually escapes from 
the orifice of the cone, and at intervals small jets 
of water spurt high above the clear, white walls. 
Few are fortunate enough to see a complete 
eruption. The Earl of Dunraven was one of 
the favored, however, and in his description of 
the scene he says that the column reached an 
altitude of two hundred and fifty feet. Immense 
15 



226 SHOSHONE. 

quantities of hot water were ejected, and the de- 
scending spray ran in torrents down the geyser 
sides. The noise was Hke that heard on the 
sea chffs, when the ocean is lashed by a storm, 
and the ground trembled from the shock. For 
twenty minutes the spectacle continued, and fol- 
lowing the water came hissing steam, expelled 
in regular beats and making a continuous roar. 

The walls of the Grotto are not so high as 
those of the Castle, but its crater is hollowed 
into fantastic arches beneath which are the rents 
through which the water and steam escape. 
During eruption the two main cones are del- 
uged and nearly concealed by fine white spray, 
through which spurt small jets that shoot up- 
ward from twenty to forty feet. On the outside 
the walls are very white, but on the inside they 
are of light sea-green, reminding one of blocks of 
ice, — only they are hot to the touch and smell 
of sulphur. We did not see these two geysers at 
their best, we were told ; but they seemed very 
beautiful, and the forests gave them a back- 
ground that intensified all their colors. They 
were less noisy than the others, less terrible, 
and less suggestive of a force that could, had it 
pleased, break away from all bounds and scatter 



^GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 22/ 

a broadcast desolation. The spray that now and 
again poured forth from the openings was as 
light and graceful as a veil, filled with colors 
where the sun's rays shone upon the quivering 
drops, and draping the geyser sides with shim- 
mering sheets. A master hand has chiselled 
the walls of these cones. There are countless 
little towers and turrets and loopholes, from 
which escape tiny jets of steam ; and at the 
Grotto you can step within the gloriously tinted 
caverns and imagine them rooms of an actual 
castle. 

You cannot easily grasp the full significance 
of the Upper Basin for a day or two. In his 
enthusiasm one hastens from place to place, 
and loses not only time but the chance to study 
the features of each eruption. And by study 
alone can you comprehend the spectacle that 
the region affords. There are other geysers in 
the world, — in Iceland and in New Zealand, — 
and thermal springs without number. But some 
of the largest geysers are here in this little area 
of four square miles; and the phenomena pre- 
sented by them have been investigated again 
and again. I confess that we grew tired of the 
boiling waters, so restless and hot, and that it 



228 SHOSHONE. 

was sometimes pleasanter to sit on the hotel 
veranda and watch the eruptions from a dis- 
tance. But none of us, I think, ever wearied of 
the gorgeous colorings of the region, or neg- 
lected to applaud a geyser in action. Whenever 
we looked down the valley we were sure to see 
one or more columns of water leaping skyward ; 
and if there was not water there was steam, and 
that from a distance was quite as effective. 

I have not by any means given an exhaustive 
list of the different springs and geysers, nor told 
where they may be found. Such information is 
afforded by the local guide-books, and every 
geyser is labelled with a sign. You can easily 
find them all. If the Giant happens to be in 
action, you will need no guide to it. The dark- 
colored crater is ten feet high, and the inside 
walls are yellow and are broken down on one 
side. When playing, a column of water is 
ejected that measures five feet in diameter, and 
attains an altitude of nearly two hundred feet. 
The eruption continues for hours, and is con- 
ceded to be one of the grandest spectacles in 
the basin. Its only equals in the world are the 
Giantess and the Great Geyser of Iceland, the 
latter being the largest in the world. More 




THE GIANT GEYSER. 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 23 I 

than seventy-five active geysers have ah'eady 
been found in the Park, and twenty-five of this 
number are in the Upper Basin. 

Near the Castle geyser is one of the most 
beautifully colored pools in the Park. It is very 
deep, and the water is so clear that one can see 
far into its depths. The blueness is that of the 
sky intensified, and the rim of the pool is pink, 
shading to orange and cream-white. At certain 
angles the geyser cone near by is reflected on 
the calm surface, and the wide circular basin 
expands in one's imagination until it becomes a 
sea, and the cone a ship, becalmed upon it, but 
with all sail set. Other richly colored places 
were the quick-sloping banks of the river near 
the Giantess and Bee Hive geysers. The under- 
coloring was light-yellow, and overlying this 
were streamers of red, blue, and orange, with 
a bordering near the water of green grasses. 
The brilliancy of the hues was everywhere 
heightened by the overflow from the geysers, 
which ran down the bank toward the Firehole, 
and by the bright sunlight, that was of dazzling 
clearness. 

It is said, although I cannot vouch for the 
truth of the assertion, that if you soap a geyser 



232 SHOSHONE. 

it will immediately display its power. The mili- 
tary guardians stationed in the valley keep an 
open eye on sight-seers, and one is not anxious 
to try experiments. I noticed, however, that 
our taciturn driver exerted a peculiar influ- 
ence upon such geysers as he chanced to visit. 
Almost immediately following his advent an 
eruption occurred. The Bee Hive, for instance, 
performed most bravely for our benefit, and so 
did others that had not been so accommodating 
for many days. 

The soaping process is very simple. A small 
bar of soap dropped into a cone will so grease 
the wheels of the unseen force below as to cause 
almost instant action. The story is told of a 
Chinaman who came to the Park and pitched 
his tent over a tempting spring of boiling water. 
He had found, he thought, a natural wash-tub; 
but the soap with which he liberally lathered 
his week's washing had the effect of waking the 
slumbering force of the geyser. An eruption 
followed, and high into the air went tent and 
clothes, leaving the astonished Celestial a sadder 
and a wiser man. 

On nearing the Upper Basin the Firehole 
River flows down a narrow, rock-bound canon 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 233 

that offers a delightful retreat after the glare of 
the valley has caused one's eyes to burn, and 
when the geysers have ceased to interest. Two 
miles above the hotel is a series of cascades, the 
water leaping from one mossy ledge to another, 
and then bounding forward down a half-mile of 
rapids. The forests are very dense on either 
side of the falls, and the air is deliciously free 
from the sulphur odors that, in time, are so apt 
to offend and distress. The canon was our favor- 
ite retreat near the close of our busy day of 
sight-seeing, and the driver, when he first piloted 
us there, showed an agility which we did not 
believe he possessed. 

In the morning of our last day at the geysers 
we were given a taste of winter. A cold rain of 
the night before had turned to snow a little 
before sunrise, and at breakfast the ground was 
covered and the trees were bending beneath 
their unwelcome covering. In the valley the 
cones were double their usual size, and the 
vapor was like a sea-fog, hiding all but the nearer 
objects as it rose from every crack and crevice 
of the earth and gaping safety-valve of the sub- 
terranean caverns. The drive back to Firehole 
was cold and cheerless, and made us realize, as 



.<^' 



234 SHOSHONE. 

we might not otherwise have done, so warm and 
beautiful had been the days, that our summer 
was on the wane, and that winter was ready to 
descend upon the Park. 

The Lower Geyser Basin, or Firehole, is less 
closely confined by the hills than is the case 
with its near companion, and cannot be seen to 
so good an advantage. Its area is nearly forty 
square miles, and there are six hundred and 
ninety-three boiling springs, exclusive of seven- 
teen that are of sufficient importance to rank 
as geysers. One would possibly be more im- 
pressed than perhaps he will be at Firehole, 
were it not that geysers begin to grow tiresome 
after too intimate an acquaintance ; and at the 
Upper Basin they are your constant companions. 
The local guide-books, however, are filled with 
enticing pictures of existing splendors; and one 
humbly visits whatever is set down as necessary 
to be seen. But I confess that all novelty had 
departed. I liked the general rather than the 
particular features, and a geyser, if not in erup- 
tion, was looked at askance. 

The drives about Firehole were our greatest 
joy. To-day, on horseback, we followed narrow 
winding trails that led to secluded springs cold 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 235 

as ice, or burning-hot; and on the morrow 
drove across the meadows to a high table-land 
literally covered with formations, and thickly 
studded with boiling springs and wide, open 
pools that now and again were hurled bodily 
into the air. On the extreme top of this high- 
land, nestled in a group of pines, are the Paint 
Pots. There are several of these caldrons of 
boiling mud in the Park, and to each is given 
this fanciful name. The largest is near the en- 
trance to Gibbon Canon, a few miles north of 
Firehole. The Lower Basin caldron covers an 
area nearly sixty feet long by forty wide, and is 
enclosed by a rim five feet high. It is filled 
with a fine silicious clay, in a state of constant 
agitation, and contains a group of smaller basins 
each about three feet wide, which are filled with 
a sputtering compound of many colors, — blue, 
pink, brown, and gray. 

Near the Paint Pots is Fountain Geyser, a 
deep, blue pool that boils and steams and occa- 
sionally has an eruption which sends the main 
body of water upward to a height of ten feet, 
and small jets to an altitude of fifty. From its 
rim we could see far over the great crusted 
mound which the geyser and mud caldron oc- 



236 SHOSHONE. 

cupy. The air was raw and cold, and the rain 
and snow of a few days before had turned the 
marshes into ponds. Down in the depths of 
the Fountain the rumbHngs were long and loud, 
and the water was churned into foam and ran in 
rivulets down the white sides of the hill. At 
last the action began in earnest, and for half an 
hour the geyser became indeed a fountain, the 
water leaping high above its basin and falling 
back, only to rise again and again until it fell 
exhausted. We left it with regret, for it was 
our last day in the basin and no more geysers 
were to be visited. 

From the Lower Basin our route led eastward 
over the hills and through the forests to the 
Grand Caiion of the Yellowstone. The road 
was rough, but the views after entering Hayden 
Valley, where one first catches sight of the 
Yellowstone, more than counterbalanced all dis- 
comforts. Once out of the forests the prospect 
broadened, and we were face to face with the 
white-topped peaks that had been our distant 
landmarks for so many days. Far to the south 
rose the bold headlands of Yellowstone Lake ; 
and in the north stood Mount Washburne, its 
feet hid by the pines. At the entrance to Hay- 




ms'dMm/Ui//i/i 



Foi LOWING rnr \ filowsione 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 239 

den Valley we swept around the edge of Sul- 
phur Mountain, — a huge pile of pure sulphur, 
yellow-tinged and filling the air with odor,— 
and then passed out upon an open rolling plain 
with long stretches of brown grass and dark- 
green pines that looked like massive armies. 
Later we reached the Yellowstone, and for hours 
drove along its tree-grown bank, catching bright 
glimpses of the placid waters flowing beneath 
the overhanging boughs. 

As the day neared its end we descended 
from the river's bank into the Canon, through 
which it now began to force its way, forded a 
branch of the stream, and were wrapped in the 
doom of the narrow defile that the Yellowstone 
has worn. Above the sighing of the pines could 
be heard the roar of the Falls, and at our side 
the river ran headlong toward the fearful preci- 
pice over which it takes its fearless leap. Every 
moment now the cliffs that hemmed us in rose 
higher and higher. Hardy trees grew from the 
crevices of the dark-stained rocks, and the river 
was lashed into foam by half-submerged ledges 
lifting their wet heads above the seething tide. 
We were still in Wonderland ; but instead oi 
weirdness there was beauty, and the air was 



240 SHOSHONE. 

fragrant as in our New England woods. Chat- 
tering squirrels sat on the pine boughs and 
mocked us, and there were mossy banks and 
thick layers of pine-needles. No need to tell 
us that we had now reached what is indispu- 
tably the most satisfying corner of the Park. 
We realized the fact, even in the gathering 
darkness. 

The hotel at the Grand Canon stands within 
a few feet of the Upper Fall, and is surrounded 
by a heavy growth of pines. To the right runs 
the river, and at the left of the house begins a 
narrow path that follows along the edge of the 
stream, but high above it, to the various points 
of observation from which one looks into the 
Canon and upon the two grand cataracts; In 
the evening of our arrival we sat around the 
office stove, listening to the praises of the place. 
In the morning we walked down stream to see 
for ourselves what it was like, and if it had been 
too much glorified. One look, and we were 
satisfied. I had imagined that the West had 
nothing new to offer; had thought I knew its 
features thoroughly, and that I could not be 
surprised into fresh enthusiasm. But when I 
stood upon an overhanging ledge and saw at 




GRAND CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 243 

my feet a narrow caiioii nearly two thousand 
feet deep, its rough-hewn walls of countless 
colors, I knew that here was something such as 
I had never seen before. 

Imagine the prospect. Below you a narrow 
gorge, cut through the very centre of high, 
wooded hills ; in the bottom of this a river 
rapidly flowing, — a mere ribbon of light green 
or blue that makes no sound, yet actually seems 
to quiver as it runs, and which flaunts its colors 
like a streamer straightened by the wind. All 
this directly beneath the rock on which you 
stand. 

Now look to your right. Between two huge 
shoulders of rock is a great white wall as light, 
and seemingly as soft, as feathers. At its crest 
is a strip of deep sea-green; below, pure white, 
and far down in the depths of the canon, a rising 
cloud of mist that is met by the wind and blown 
from rock to rock, or, touched by the sunlight, 
becomes an arch of rainbow hues. It is the 
Great Fall of the Yellowstone, — higher than 
Niagara, higher than Shoshone, higher than any 
fall of equal volume of water that you have ever 
seen. From the top line of green to the base of 
that ever-moving cloud of spray, the distance is 



244 SHOSHONE. 

three hundred and ninety-seven feet, while the 
width of the great white sheet is less than one 
hundred. 

But still you have not seen all. For higher 
up the river there are white-capped rapids, 
making wild leaps against the walls that shut 
them in on either side ; and beyond them is the 
Upper Fall, not so high as the one below, but 
just as white, and having the same airy graceful- 
ness and its veil of mist. Recalling the Canon 
of the Yellowstone, I am still inclined to think 
it an enchanted place ; for now, as then, I feel 
its spell, and am at a loss for words to picture it. 
Artists every year belie its glories, and only one 
has ever caught the spirit of the scene and car- 
ried away the true colorings of cliffs and water 
and trees. Every isolated column of rock in 
the Caiion has its peculiar hue, — its yellow or 
red, its slaty-blue or rich dark-brown ; and as 
you look up or down the gorge it is all aflame, 
and the colorings change with every hour of the 
day. It is a masterpiece of Nature, — a creation 
which the more you study, the more you will 
appreciate and enjoy. We fairly revelled in its 
beauty, testing every point of view, climbing the 
rocks above the Falls, and working our way to 



GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 245 

the level of the river itself. At noonday, when 
the reds and yellows lost their softness in the 
glaring light, we sought the shadow of the pines, 
and from there watched the river take its fearless 
plunge. But earlier and later we lingered at 
the very edge of the Canon, looking down upon 
the nests of the eagles built upon many of the 
more isolated spires, and studying the brilliant, 
changing lights and the rich, warm shadows. 
We forgot the dimensions, so conscientiously 
recorded in our guide-books; forgot all com- 
parisons. It was enough to feel that what we 
saw was more beautiful than we had ever 
dreamed. 



Chapter X. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

THE Yellowstone River is the largest and 
most important branch of the Missouri. 
It issues from Yellowstone Lake, and has a 
drainage area in the Park of nineteen hundred 
square miles. From its source to the Upper 
Falls the river is wide and sluggish. From its 
east banks rise the mountains of the Yellowstone 
Range, and on the west are the high plateaux, 
known as Elephant's Back, and the Washburne 
Range. About a mile above the Upper Fall 
begins a series of rapids and cascades, and at 
the fall the river contracts to a width of less than 
eighty feet. The Lower Fall is half a mile below 
the Upper. The Grand Canon begins at the 
Lower Fall, and is twenty-four miles long. '' In- 
deed," says Mr. Gannett, in his contribution to 
Dr. Hayden's report, " the Yellowstone is in a 
continuous canon from the Upper Falls to the 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 247 

mouth of Gardiner's River, but the partial break 
at the mouth of the East Fork separates it 
into two parts, known as the Grand and Third 
Canons. The former occupies the Hne of great- 
est depression in a volcanic plateau, which slopes 
to the northward and. southward from the Wash- 
burne Mountains, and to the westward from 
the Amethyst Ridge of the Yellowstone Range. 
Its course is northeast as far as the VVashburne 
group, and then is slightly westward. The 
height of the plateau at the falls is about 7,800 
feet. At the head of the Upper Fall the river 
level is but a few feet below the top of the 
plateau. This fall adds 1 12, and the Lower Fall 
300 feet to the depth of the chasm. From the 
foot of this fall to the mouth of the East Fork 
of the Yellowstone, the total fall is 1,304 feet in 
twenty-four miles, an average of 54.3 feet per 
mile. As far as the extremity of the Washburne 
Mountains, a distance of twelve miles, the canon 
increases its depth to 1,200 feet. The width of 
the canon near the falls is from one fourth of a 
mile to a mile, and the angle of slope of the 
walls from the top to the water's edge ranges 
from 45° to 75°, with a horizontal line." 

Mr. W. H. Holmes, discussing the geology of 



248 SHOSHONE. 

the Park in Dr. Hayden's report, concludes that 
the canon is one of erosion and has been cut by 
the waters of the Yellowstone since the flow of 
rhyolites, and probably very greatly since the 
conglomerate-forming era. The lithologic char- 
acter of the walls is most interesting and ex- 
traordinary. The formations consist of igneous 
rocks, and include a great variety of rhyolites 
and pitchstones. " A feature of the walls below 
the falls," says Mr. Holmes, " is the occurrence 
of fragments of horizontal strata which have 
been built into irregular recesses, and are thus 
shielded from erosion. They are generally 
coarse-grained sandstones or conglomerates, and 
resemble the lake beds found on the upper sur- 
face of the plateau." At the falls one is within 
the borders of the ancient Yellowstone Lake. 
The walls of the canon between the two cataracts 
are capped with about twenty feet of horizon- 
tally bedded sandstones, under which are thirty 
feet of sandy clays. Similar outcroppings are 
also found above the falls and in Hayden Val- 
ley. The canon walls below the Lower Fall, at 
Promontory Point, are all white or gray rhyolites 
stained by the oxidization of minerals. Below 
the Point the walls are of brown or gray rhyo- 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 249 

Htes, which weather very dark. Here occurs 
I the most remarkable instance of the cohimnar 
structure, which is so noticeable a feature of 
the Caiion. " The joints have the greatest di- 
versity of directions, extending in great sweep- 
ing curves across the wall, reaching from base 
to summit in almost straight lines or arranged 
in groups set at all angles with each other." 
Minerals and hot springs have given a great 
variety of colors to the rain-sculptured face of 
the cliffs, and every hue is intensified by the 
dark-green forests that cover the plateau to the 
very edge of the awful chasm. 

There is probably no more interesting district 
in the world than that of the Grand Canon. 
You cannot exhaust it in years. Every foot of 
the gorge has its geologic history plainly written 
on the cliffs, and the mountains and minor 
canons are open books of information. One 
of the most curious of the many phenomena 
is found on the steep slopes of Amethyst 
Mountain, a high ridge on the East Fork of the 
Yellowstone. The exposed strata there is filled 
with the petrified remains of ancient forests. 
At a height of five hundred feet above the level 
of the river, and embedded in various strata, are 



250 SHOSHONE. 

prostrate trunks forty and fifty feet long, and 
five or, six feet in diameter. In the middle 
portion of the mountain face "rows of upright 
trunks stand out on the ledges like the columns 
of a ruined temple." In many cases the roots 
are exposed, and may be seen penetrating the 
now solid rocks. The wood is often perfectly 
preserved. One tree particularly noted by Mr. 
Holmes was covered with bark four inches thick, 
and retaining its original deeply lined outer sur- 
face. The strata inclosing this trunk contained 
many vegetable remains, - — branches, rootlets, 
and fruits; and one stratum of sandstone was 
filled "with a great variety of the most perfectly 
preserved leaves." In many instances the pet- 
rified wood is completely opalized or agatized, 
and its cavities are filled with beautiful crystals 
of quartz and calcite. " The silicifying agents 
have been so active in these strata," writes Mr. 
Holmes, " that not only are all organic remains 
thoroughly silicified, but all cavities in the 
loosely bedded rocks and all fracture-lines in 
the strata are filled with chalcedony or other 
forms of quartz." Fossil trees are found at a 
height of three thousand feet above the level of 
the river, and are supposed by Mr. Holmes to 




CLIMBING THE TERRACES. 



.HOMEWARD BOUND. 253 

exist in the conglomerates that reach and form 
the loftiest summits of the range. 

Slightly to the northeast of the Grand Cafion 
is the Washburne Range, containing twenty-five 
different summits ranging in height from 9,000 
to 10,000 feet. The two highest peaks are Mount 
Washburne, 10,346 feet above sea-level, and 
Dunraven's Peak, 9,988 feet high. The former 
is quite easy of access from the falls. The trail 
extends along the edge of the Canon, and crossing 
the mountains continues to the Hot Springs of 
Gardiner's River. Before the completion of the 
Government road the Mount Washburne route 
was the only one by which the Grand Canon 
could be reached, and is still used by those 
making the tour of the Park on horseback. 
The view from the peak is unequalled for extent 
and variety. The broad expanse of the great 
central plateau, with its forests, lakes, and deep 
winding canon; the distant summits of the 
mountains beyond Yellowstone Lake, and of 
those surrounding the Park; and the depres- 
sions containing the numerous hot springs and 
rivers are all within the range of one's vision. 
One cannot begin to imagine the grandeur of 
the scene, and from no other point can so good 



254 SHOSHONE. 

an idea of the peculiar topography of Wonder- 
land be obtained. 

Coming down the trail up which we were 
slowly making our way was a party of sight- 
seers who had come from across the Atlan- 
tic to visit our National Park, All that great 
wealth could buy was at their command. They 
had ridden for many miles, and visited every 
prominent section of the region, making camp 
wherever night overtook them, and seeing the 
country in a manner that few Americans ever 
take the trouble to imitate. But the leader of 
the party — he who planned the journey and was 
now the most enthusiastic — was blind. Rich, and 
a noble of England, he could see nothing of 
the beauty around him, and could scarcely dis- 
tinguish day from night. Yet here he was de- 
scribing the view from Mount Washburne and 
asking countless questions about the Canon. 
No one would have imagined his infirmity. 
His wide-open eyes, his animated manner, his 
evident enjoyment of the places to which he was 
led, stamped him as an enthusiast. When we 
were told that he was blind, the pity of it made 
our hearts grow sick. Ever afterward, I am 
sure, one of us at least took more careful note of 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 255 

the objects around him, and ceased complaining 
at trifles. 

The one other attractive feature of the Park 
in the immediate vicinity of the Grand Caiion is 
the Yellowstone Lake, famous for the beauty of 
its shores and as being the largest body of 
water, of equal elevation, in North America. 
Its level is 7,738 feet above the sea, and in 
shape it resembles a huge hand, with fingers 
and thumb outstretched. Numerous islands are 
grouped upon its placid, deep-blue surface, and 
the shores are heavily fringed with dense forests, 
from out of which at certain points huge shoul- 
ders of detached mountain ranges extend to the 
water's edge and end in high, abruptly rising 
cliffs with serrated summits. The lake has an 
area of one hundred and fifty square miles, and 
is twenty miles long by fifteen wide. The waters 
are shallow, and their intense color greatly en- 
hances the general beauty of the shores and 
brilliant reds of the rocky promontories. Shore- 
lines are indistinctly marked on the face of the 
cliffs, and the surrounding topography is such 
that if the water rose but two hundred feet the 
lake would again fill its ancient bed and cover 
the levels now so dry and brown. 



256 SHOSHONE. 

But the days were now so short, and the even- 
ings so cool, that we needed no suggestions from 
the hotel-keeper to realize that, like poor Jo, 
we must be " moving on." October was near at 
hand. Before us were still many miles of travel, 
and there was much of interest to see. 

So, after a last visit to the Caiion, and a part- 
ing look at its beautiful walls flushed by the 
early light, we drove over the hills and through 
long stretches of forest to Norris Basin and 
from there to the Mammoth Hot Springs. At 
the latter place were to be made our adieus to 
the Park, and the drive was our last with that 
knight of the front seat who had guided us 
ever since beginning our journey at Beaver 
Canon. There was little oT interest on the road 
to the Norris Basin. For a moment a glimpse was 
had of the Yellowstone River, winding through 
Hayden Valley and then losing itself in the 
depths of its Canon; and later we passed a 
series of cascades, the water falling over sloping 
ledges and looking very white and beautiful 
against the background of green pines and 
dark rocks. At Norris there were more geysers 
and hot springs and pink-rimmed pools. We 
visited them all, as in duty bound, but were 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 257 

glad to leave their noisy spouting for the fresh- 
ness of the valley that leads northward to the 
Gardiner River district and its famous Hot 
Springs. At times we were tempted to forget 
the lateness of the season and linger in the 
region that, even to our satiated eyes, was not 
without its interest. But the driver, at last, lost 
all patience and urged us on. Behind us, he 
said, was all that Jie cared anything about, and 
all, he guessed, that we would enjoy seeing. 

The Norris Geyser Basin has an area of about 
six square miles, and an elevation of 7,257 feet 
above sea-level. It lies in a depression of the 
plateau uplands, and is near the head-waters of 
Gibbon River, a tributary of the Madison named 
by Dr. Hayden in 1872 in honor of General 
John Gibbon, who first explored its narrow 
valley. The several springs and geysers were 
discovered by Mr. P. W. Norris, then the Gov- 
ernment Director of the Park, who built a wagon 
road to them from the Hot Springs. The Basin 
contains no extensive deposits, and its phe- 
nomena are all of recent origin, — a fact which 
renders the little valley particularly interesting 
to geologists studying the history of the thermal 
springs in the Park. The Norris Mud Springs 
17 



258 SHOSHONE. 

cover large areas, and are remarkable for the 
variety and brilliancy of then* coloring. 

I think one can gain no better idea of the 
strange configuration of the Yellowstone Park 
than from the low water-shed which stretches 
across the valley a little north of the Norris 
Basin. For 'there, on the one side, the waters 
flow south to the Madison, and on the other 
north to the Yellowstone. Apparently they are 
lost to each other forever, and yet, eventually, 
both join the Missouri, the one taking a straight 
course to that great river, the other making a 
long detour and flowing many miles. On leav- 
ing the Basin we crossed the divide, and drove 
nearly due north through a wooded valley en- 
closed by low ranges and containing a profusion 
of long shallow lakes and steaming hot springs. 
The waters are strongly impregnated with lime 
and sulphur, but occasionally there are springs 
of delicious freshness. The territory surround- 
ing the latter is favorite camping ground, and is 
rarely without its visitors. 

Just before leaving the narrower part of the 
valley the road closely follows Obsidian Creek, 
a branch of the Gardiner, and passes the base 
of the Obsidian Cliffs, nearly two hundred feet 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 259 

hi^h, and composed of black obsidian rock 
arranged in pentagonal columns that are per- 
fectly cut and glisten in the sunlight. The 
road-bed is made of the glass-like compound, 
and the towering promontory is followed for 
half a mile. In examining the qliffs Mr. Holmes 
found a narrow trail that passed along the brink 
of the ledge, and descended the broken cliffs to 
the valley above and below. In its near vicinity 
were innumerable Indian implements, showing 
that at some time in the far-away past the clifts 
were the source of extensive supplies of what- 
ever is fashioned from the hard, keen-edged 
material. Piles of arrow-heads and curious 
utensils still exist, and the ground is covered 
with the flint-like bits which have been chipped 
from the hard black walls. 

From the region of lakes and forests we 
passed into a broader portion of the valley, 
keeping within sight of winding streams and 
having an extended view of the mountains, that 
now appeared impenetrable barriers to our fur- 
ther progress northward. The range they form 
was, in fact, a stern old landmark at one time, 
and for years held in seclusion the country of 
which it is the northern wall. At present, how- 



260 SHOSHONE. 

ever, Government has built a well-graded road 
through one of the natural canons called King- 
man's Pass, and the ancient breastwork is scaled 
with greatest ease. The scenery of the Pass 
is often grand, and its walls rise high above the 
road. The hills through which it cuts its way 
are brown and treeless, and at their base flows 
one of the forks of the Gardiner, 

Beyond the Golden Gate, as the narrow pas- 
sage leading to the Pass is called, is an area of 
dead forests. Coming upon the dead and fire- 
blackened trees, we were quite willing to believe 
that the driver had told the truth when he said 
that we had seen the best of the Yellowstone 
There was a startling contrast between the gen- 
eral dryness of the basin we had now entered 
and the green freshness of those farther south, 
and even the warm coloring of the mountains 
that form the Gateway failed to awaken the 
interest that had been so satisfied by the Grand 
Gallon. One cannot help having the keenest 
enjoyment when making the grand tour of the 
far West; but there are times, I must confess, 
when a mountain, be it ever so beautiful, fails 
to awaken one's enthusiasm. But I have seen 
the time when a cathedral was just as tiresome, 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 26 1 

and I know very well that there were days when 
the Louvre or the Pitti Palace failed to interest 
me. 

The Mammoth Hot Springs are a famous fea- 
ture of the National Park. Many are so satisfied 
with their novel formation that they crave noth- 
ing stranger. Only in Asia Minor is their equal 
to be found. They cover an area of nearly 
three square miles, and extend back from the 
Gardiner River over two miles. In the mys- 
terious past the valley which they occupy did 
not exist. The country was a vast level of 
rhyolites, through which in time the river wore 
its way, the springs sinking with it until now 
they issue from the hillside a thousand feet 
below their former level. From the top of the 
great white terrace which the waters have 
formed, and the basins of which it still fills and 
overflows, one can see the crest of the old rhyo- 
lite plateau ; and on the sides of Mount Evarts, 
the highest elevation near the river, the geolo- 
gists trace the successive strata by which the 
story of the great erosion is told. 

The immediate surroundings of the Hot 
Springs formations are limited by hills mostly 
brown and bare. Here and there are patches 



262 



SHOSHONE. 



of forest, enclosing the crumbling terraces of 
springs that have long since ceased to flow ; and 




in the canon of the Gar- 
diner are areas of green- 
sward kept moist by the 
spray that falls upon them 
from the foaming cataracts 
of the river. As a rule 
the valley or basin is void of beauty ; but when 
one looks upon the high white mound, with its 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 263 

natural stairway of delicately formed basins of 
many colors, he forgets the general dreariness 
of the region and finds a fascinating interest in 
the great terrace which has been slowly gain- 
ing in dimensions these many thousands of 
years. All other formations sink into insig- 
nificance when compared with the Hot Springs 
Terrace. Its great height and extent, the beau- 
tiful and varied color of the water filling the 
basins, the illustration it affords of the action of 
thermal springs, the variety and form of the cal- 
careous deposit, — cause one to forget the glare 
of the sunlight and the heat of the day. Stand- 
ing on the top of the mound, white as snow, you 
are surrounded by rising clouds of steam, and 
your feet grow hot from the great heat beneath. 
Springs are everywhere, some boiling fast and 
others slowly, and winding streams of water 
course through narrow channels and fall like a 
veil over the sculptured fronts of the basins. 
Wherever the springs have ceased to flow the 
deposit is dry and crumbling. But the walls of 
the basins, still full to overflowing, have edges 
colored with the hues of the rainbow. There 
are the palest pinks and blues, the deepest reds, 
browns, and yellows. '' One can look down 



264 SHOSHONE. 

into the clear depths," says Dr. Hayden, *' and 
see with perfect distinctness the minutest orna- 
ment on the inner sides of the basins ; and the 
exquisite beauty of the coloring and the variety 
of forms baffle any attempt to portray them, 
either with pen or pencil." 

Thermal springs, as those are called whose 
mean annual temperature exceeds that of the 
locality in which they are found, are distributed 
at random over the entire world. In New Zea- 
land and Mexico, in South America and Europe, 
in Asia, Africa, and America, they find their 
way to the earth's surface no matter how high 
or how low the elevation. In India thermal 
springs exist at an altitude of sixteen thousand 
feet ; in France and Germany they are less than 
a thousand feet above the ocean level. Latitude 
does not affect them. Their temperature is as 
great in the Arctic circles as under the equator. 
The reputation of their waters for medicinal and 
bathing purposes was known to the ancients as 
well as to ourselves. Pliny discusses and the 
Romans erected temples over them. The baths 
of Diocletian were famous for the statuary with 
which they were adorned ; and Italy to-day 
shows many a ruin of the gorgeously decorated 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 265 

buildings where the rich and the poor used to 
gather to bathe in the heahng waters. In the 
Yellowstone Park more than three thousand of 
these springs — whose temperature must exceed 
that of 75° F. — have been named; and I know 
of no more interesting reading than that found 
in the report of the Government Geologists, 
who have visited and studied them. I have but 
slightly mentioned their more apparent charac- 
teristics. To do more would have required vol- 
umes. But he who would enjoy to the utmost 
the spectacle presented by the Mammoth Hot 
Springs, which are strictly thermal and whose 
deposits are calcareous rather than silicious, 
should not only read the exhaustive reports of 
Dr. Peale, but should visit the geysers and boil- 
ing pools and notice the nature of their deposits. 
Only by so doing can the peculiar formations of 
the Mammoth Springs be understood. They 
are peculiar to themselves, with only one coun- 
terpart, and that a small one in the Park, and 
with but few equals in the world. Countless 
ages have passed since the waters first began 
their laborious, patient work of building ter- 
race upon terrace of white-walled basins. Inch 
by inch, less than one sixtieth of an inch a day, 



266 SHOSHONE. 

the present terrace has been formed; and now 
the main deposit is more than two hundred feet 
high and three hundred yards wide. To find 
another so large a sedimentary deposit one must 
visit Italy or Algiers, Peru, India, or Hungary. 
The deposits at the baths of San Vignone, Italy, 
have a thickness of 250 feet, and at San Fillipo, 
near Rome, strata of 328 feet thickness are 
found. "In 1604," says Dr. Peale, "Father 
Joseph de Acosta describes the springs of 
Huanvelica, Peru, as depositing stones of which 
houses are built. St. Peter's and all the prin- 
cipal buildings of Rome are constructed of 
travertine (or calcareous tufa) ; and at Hiera- 
polis the deposit rises one hundred feet above 
the plain and has a width of six hundred feet, 
and upon this the city stands." 

The main cause of the formations, both sili- 
cious and calcareous, is the evaporation of water 
containing carbonates and silica. Calcareous 
waters also deposit by simply cooling or losing 
carbonic acid upon coming to the surface. Sili- 
cious formations are found at all geysers and 
boiling springs. The deposit grows slowly and 
has an infinite variety of forms. It is often 
transparent, and may be seen in many places 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 26/ 

covering the autographs of the early visitors to 
the Park, who dehghted to write their names on 
the rims of the springs. Inscriptions in pencil 
soon become indelible, but are perfectly legible 
beneath the varnish-like coating of silica. Wher- 
ever calcareous springs are seen, the deposits 
assume certain forms, one of the most constant 
being that of the bath-like basins arranged in 
terraces so characteristic of the Mammoth 
Springs. These same forms are seen at Hi- 
erapolis, in Asia Minor, and in fact wherever 
springs exist that contain a large percentage of 
calcium carbonate. Dr. Peale says it is not 
necessary that the water should be hot, and in- 
stances the cavern of Luray in West Virginia. 
The recent deposits and those on which the 
active springs are found at the Mammoth 
Springs, occupy about one hundred and seventy 
acres. There are fifty-two different springs de- 
scribed by Dr. Peale, which vary in temperature 
from 63° to 165° F. Each has its peculiarly 
sculptured basin and color, and to mention the 
characteristics of each would require many more 
pages than are at my disposal. Spring num- 
bered 17 by Dr. Peale has a beautiful marble- 
like basin filled with light-blue waters, on which 



268 SHOSHONE. 

float masses of red-tiiiged lime carbonates ; an- 
other has a reddish rim to its basin and contains 
long, silky filaments of light yellow. The basin 
of the Cleopatra Spring is forty feet high, and 
covers an area of three fourths of an acre. The 
inner walls are of pearly whiteness with reddish 
edges, and the waters are blue. Some of the 
channels through which the overflow passes are 
bright green or crimson. The hues are be- 
wildering at times, and are always intensified 
by the general whiteness of the high, broken 
mound. The older deposits, now dry and 
crumbling, are not far from the main terrace. 
Their walls are grayish white, and one of the 
formations is overgrown with forests. The high- 
est living spring is one thousand feet above the 
level of the Gardiner. 

Here and there, scattered over the main ter- 
race, are curiously fashioned caves with narrow 
entrances guarded by dripping waters. Within 
these shaded recesses the walls are like the inside 
of the sea-shells. You can hear the loud mur- 
muring of hidden springs, and around you are 
quaintly carved stalactites and stalagmites. To 
the right of Cupid's Cave, as one of these 
grottos is named, is a walk that extends from 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 269 

the terraces to Orange Geyser. The path leads 
through a grove of pines, among which are 
seen the pure white walls of the old deposits. 
The shade is most welcome after the trying 
glare of the place you have left, and the gey- 
ser, sputtering itself hoarse, is an odd little 
creation which we never tired visiting. Its cone 
is a low, round hill, as yellow as an orange, and 
not more than ten feet high. On its top is the 
geyser, — a tiny, spouting fountain that gur- 
gles and splashes all day long. Its little basin 
was filled to overflowing, but the activity of the 
diminutive geyser never ceased, and the cone 
was dripping wet with its waters. I doubt if we 
ever enjoyed a geyser so thoroughly as we did 
this one. The coloring of its cone was very 
rich and mellow, and made all the more pro- 
nounced by the surrounding green of the forests. 
The place, too, was delightfully fresh and cool 
and quiet, and the noise that the baby fountain 
made filled the air with a delicious murmur, 
such as one hears when the waves are softly 
rolling in upon the sea-sands. 

Just to the left of the main terrace is a 
rounded knoll, thickly overgrown with trees 
long ago killed by the white walls that sur- 



2/0 SHOSHONE. 

round them. From here was had our best 
view of the Gardiner River basin. Below us 
stood the weather-beaten buildings that serve 
as headquarters for the military forces in the 
Park, and into the distance stretched the val- 
ley, dotted here and there with little columns 
of vapor that marked the spot of a hot spring. 
Looking far away to the great outer walls of 
mountains, we were lost, for a moment, to pres- 
ent surroundings, and again were driving along 
the by-ways of the silent hills. Then, suddenly 
realizing the duties of the hour, we turned away 
and once more gave attention to the steaming 
basins and the ever-flowing waters. The day 
was our last in the Park. On the morrow we 
should say farewell to its many wonders, and 
be speeding eastward to the civilization from 
which we had so long been absent. 

Much had been learned during our wandering 
pilgrimage ; and much, no doubt, would be for- 
gotten. But I am sure now, as I was then, that 
among the unforgotten will be the idle days 
when we drove through fields both new and 
strange and beautiful. They will be remem- 
bered forever, comforting and amusing when, 
for the time, we throw off the cares of a busy 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 2/1 

life and look backward to the fading past. 
The trials we encountered and the annoyances 
we had to undergo will not seem so great in 
after years as they did at the time. We shall 
smile at them, I f^mcy, and wonder how they 
ever troubled us. Days with Nature are red- 
letter days, if we but knew it. For none can 
paint and plan and fashion so well as she ; and 
none, I think, can amuse us half so cleverly. 

From the Hot Springs to Cinnabar, a town on 
the outskirts of the Park, and at which one again 
meets a railroad, the route is down the Valley of 
the Gardiner as far as the point at which that 
river joins the Yellowstone. Thence the west 
bank of the larger stream is followed to the vil- 
lage, where farewells to Wonderland are said. 

From here the valley turns due north, and 
down its centre flows the Yellowstone. On each 
side are high ranges whose abruptly rising 
fronts and tops are crowned with forests. At 
the base of the west range extends a branch of 
the Northern Pacific Railroad, which connects 
Cinnabar with the main line at Livingston. It 
was built for the accommodation of visitors to the 
Park, and has a most picturesque entrance to 
the very borders of Wonderland. The valley 



272 SHOSHONE. 

continually narrows and contracts. Here the 
cliffs leave scarcely room for the road to find a 
foothold, and again recede from the river and 
leave open fields covered with grasses and 
dotted with cattle and small farms. From Liv- 
ingston the view southward toward the great 
Gallatin and Yellowstone Ranges is one of the 
most beautiful in the West. The way seems 
choked with mountains, and the tall white peaks 
give the higher levels the appearance of belong- 
ing to the Arctic Circle. 

It is a most interesting ride from Livingston 
.to St. Paul, and were one to go westward a few 
miles from the little town that stands at the 
gateway to the Park, he would find the three 
rivers which form the Missouri. The railroad 
crosses their meeting-point, and the place is 
made memorable by the exploits of Lewis and 
Clarke. Our old friend the Madison ends its 
journey there, and you can see it winding down 
the valley and boisterously joining its com- 
panions. Had it not been for the lateness of 
the season we would have gone still farther 
westward to Helena; for having had a taste of 
the Rockies we were disinclined to leave them, 
and Helena, we knew, rested in their very lap. 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 2/3 

There is much historical interest connected with 
the country tributary to the Northern Pacific. 
The road follows the general course of at least 
three famous explorers, and in the valley of the 
Yellowstone, which it traverses for nearly three 
hundred miles, were fought some of the fiercest 
Indian battles that were ever waged in the West. 
The earliest explorer to seek the head-waters of 
the Missouri was the Chevalier de la Verendrye, 
who in 1743 followed the Missouri to within 
sight of the Rocky Mountains, and there buried 
a plate of lead graven with the royal arms of 
France. In a lately published paper regarding 
this early pathfinder Francis Parkman gives a 
most interesting account of his journey and life 
among the Indians. " Sixty-two years later," 
writes Mr. Parkman, ** when the vast western 
regions then called Louisiana had just been 
ceded to the United States, Captains Lewis and 
Clarke traced the Missouri to the mountains, 
penetrated the wastes beyond, and made their 
way to the Pacific. The first stages of that re- 
markable exploration were anticipated by the 
brothers La Verendrye. They did not find the 
Pacific, but they discovered the Rocky Moun- 
tains, or at least that part of them to which the 
18 



274 SHOSHONE. 

name properly belongs." On a tall pillar of 
stone standing near the road east of Livingston 
Lewis and Clarke engraved their names in 1806. 
The letters still remain, and seeing them one 
recalls the great journey of the two men, and is 
filled with admiration at their bravery in going 
forth into the then unknown world. 

Of those who have but lately given the North- 
west its history are the officers and men who 
camped along the valley of the^' Yellowstone, 
and made safe the way of the settlers who are 
now rapidly crowding into the country and 
transforming its wastes into regions of great 
productiveness. Not far away from the line of 
the road the genial, brave-hearted Custer lost 
his life, valiantly fighting against overwhelming 
odds ; and in dozens of localities you will have 
pointed out the scene of some famous battle 
with the Indians, who once fiercely disputed the 
advancement of civilization. Peace reigns to- 
day ; but to gain this happy condition of affairs 
many lives were sacrificed. 

Thus, through scenes of historic interest, and 
having, too, their natural beauties of plain and 
mountain, of river and strange formations, we 
journeyed toward St. Paul. The summer of 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 2/5 

idle outing, of novel experiences, had passed. 
Every day brought us nearer the completion of 
our great circle of travel. From the Missouri 
we had reached and crossed the Rockies ; now 
we had crossed them once again, and again at 
the side of the Missouri, grown deep and muddy 
and far less beautiful than when we had seen it 
at its source, we ended our holiday. 



THE END, 



By AMELIE KIVES. 

A BROTHER TO DRAGONS, and Other Old-timb 

Tales. Post 8vo, Cloth, Extra, $1 00. 

VIRGINIA OF VIRGINIA. A Story. Illustrated 
Post 8vo, Cloth, Extra, $1 00. 

Oue is permitted to discover qualities of mind and a proficiency and 
capacity in art from which something new and distinctively the work 
of genius may be anticipated in American literature.— i>^os^o?i Globe. 

Miss Rives has imagination, breadth, and a daring and courage 
oftenest spoken of as masculine. Moreover, she is exquisitely poet- 
ical, and her ideals, with all the mishaps of her delineations, are of an 
exalted order N. Y. Star. 

It was little more than two years ago that Miss Rives made her first 
literary conquest, a conquest so complete and astonishing as at once 
to give her fame. How well she has sustained and added to the repu- 
tation she so suddenly won, we all know, and the permanency of that 
reputation demonstrates conclusively that her success did not depend 
upon the lucky striking of a popular fancy, but that it rests upon en- 
during qualities that are developing more and more richly year by 
year. —Richmond State. 

It is evident that the author has imagination in an unusual degree 
much strength of expression, and skill in delineating character.— £05- 
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There are few young writers who begin a promising career with so 
much spontaneity and charm of expression as is displayed by Miss 
'Rives.— Literary World, Boston. 

The trait which the author seems to take the most pleasure in de- 
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wife to her husband, and her portrayal of this trait has feeling, and is 
set oflr by an unconventional style and brisk movement.— fvie Book 
Buyer, N. Y. 

There is such a wealth of imagination, such an exuberance of strik- 
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the veAdei:— Toledo Blade. 

Miss Rives is essentially a teller of love stories, and relates them 
Avith such simple, straightforward grace that she at once captures the 
sympathy and interest of the reader, . . . There is a freshness of feeling 
and a mingling of pathos and humor which are simply delicious.— Aett 
London Telegraph. 

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Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting 
magazine stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the de- 
lineation of her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of 
local Wie.— Jewish Messenger, N. Y. 

Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist 
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Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and 
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story is very remarkable.— I/O)!rfo)i Life. 

Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox 
novelist, but strikes a new and richly loaded vein, which so far is all 
her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh sen- 
sation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant 
task of reading it is finished. The author's lines must have fallen to 
her in very pleasant places ; or she has, perhaps, within herself the 
wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all 
she. writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of 
the day— a quality sadly wanting in novels of the iimQ.— Whitehall 
Review, London. 



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By W. D. HOWELLS. 

MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Poets. With 
Portraits. 12mo, Half Cloth, $3 00. 

APRIL HOPES. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 



A portfolio of delightsome studies among the Italian poets ; musings 
iu a golden granary full to the brim with good things. . . . We ven- 
ture to say that no acute and penetrating critic surpasses Mr. Howells 
iu true insight, in polished irony, in effective and yet graceful treat- 
ment of his theme, in that light and indescribable touch that lifts you 
over a whole sea of froth and foam, and tixes your eye, not on the 
froth and foam, but on the solid objects, the true heart and soul of the 
theme.— Critic, N. Y. 

A more companionable, entertaining, stimulating work than this 
book has not been printed for many a day. It is a book to be stud- 
ied privately, to be read aloud, to be cherished and quoted and re- 
read many times, and every reader of it will cry for more translations 
from the Italian by the same delight-conferring pen.— Chicago Tribune. 

This is a noble volume, the fruit of studies began twenty years ago 
in Italy. . . . The subject is discussed with all the rare fascination ol 
style and thought which Mr. Howells is so well qualitied to bring to it, 
and the volume will be treasured by every lover of poetry of whatever 
peri(Kl or cVune.— Christian at [Vork, N. Y. 

No living writer could give us this picture of a literary movement 
with such delicacy of appreciation and discrimination. The period 
embraced is about a century; the names selected comprise all the 
poets which a survey of the movement, now over, distinguishes as 
principal factors iu it. — Hartford Courant. 

In culture, the critical power, and in literary art these essays pos- 
sess qualities reached by no American, and made more brilliant and 
pleasing by uo foreign essayist.— Boston Globe. 



"April Hopes" is a specimen of Mr. Howells's well-known consum- 
mate art as a delineator of young men and maidens, and a chronicler 
of all the fluctuat,h)ns of love affairs. From the life-like description of 
Harvard Class Day and its participants, in the opening chapters, to the 
conclusion of the story, Mr. Howells is at his best.— A'. Y. Journal oj 
Commerce. 

Mr. Howells never wrote a more bewitching book. It is useless to 
deny the rarity and worth of the skill that can report so perfectly and 
with such exquisite humor all the fugacious and manifold emotious of 
the modern maiden and her lover. — Philadelphia Press. 



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SEBASTOPOL. 

By Count Leo ToLSTOt Translated by F. D. Millet 
from the French {Scenes du Siege de Sebastopol). With 
Introduction by W. D. Howells. With Portrait. 
16mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 



In his Sebastopol sketches Tolstoi is at his best, and perhaps no 
more striking example of his manner and form can be found.— ^V. y. 
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There is much strong writing in the book ; indeed, it is strength 
itself, and there ismuch tenderness as well. — Boston Traveller. 

Its workmanship is superb, and morally its influence should be im- 
mense — Bonton Herald. 

It carries us from the shams of society to the realities of war, and 
sets before us with a graphic power and minuteness the inner life of 
that great struggle in which Count Tolstoi took part. ... A thrilling 
tale of besieged Sebastopol. All is intensely real, intensely life-like, 
and doubly striking from its very simplicity. We have before our 
eyes war as it really is. — N. Y. Times. 

The various incidents of the siege which he selects in order to pre- 
sent it in its different aspects form a graphic whole which can never 
be forgotten by any one who has once read it, and it must be read to 
be appreciated.— i\'a?wn, N. Y. 

The descriptions, it is needless to say, are masterly. No novelist 
has ever before succeeded in thus depicting the emotions and utter- 
ances of the soldier in battle. — fimcon, Boston. 

A powerful appeal against warfare, written in that wonderful style 
which lends life and character to the most trivial incidents he describes. 
It is a fascinating book, and one of its chief merits is the introspec- 
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the most nervous and dramatic production of Tolstoi that has been 
rendered into English.— A'. F. S^m. 

It is, undoubtedly, the most graphic and powerfl^l of Tolstoi's works 
that has been given ^^ ^^^^ American reading public. ... It should be 
read and poiulored by Christians, pliilanthropists, statesmen— by every 
one who can think. — Chicago Interior. 

The profound realism of the book, its native, organic strength, will 
make it one of tiie great books of the day. Certainly the underlying, 
the ever-pi'esent horrors f)f war have seldom been so strikingly set 
forth.— /SY. Louis Republican. 



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NAEKA, THE E^IHILIST. 

By Kathleen O'Meara. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 



"The scenes and incidents of Miss O'Meara's tale are purely Rus- 
sian, and the time is the present period of which Tolstoi treats. Nat- 
urally they su,<,'gest the marvellously realistic pictures of the author of 
'Anna Kareniiia,' although it would he very unjust to the younger 
novelist to compare her work with his, Tolstoi is always introspec- 
tive; he deals rather with character than with the incidents which de- 
velop character. 'NarUa' portrays an involved and ingenious com- 
plication of events which hold the interest of the absorbed reader until 
the end is reached. Tolstoi's stories, even when he has a story to tell, 
are simply the intuitive outgrowth of the thoughts and actions of the 
real men and women he draws. His dramatis personce make his plots, 
while Miss O'Meara's plots, on the other hand, make her men and 
women. . . . Narka I.arik, a low-born Russian Jewess, is a peculiar 
product of Russian soil and of autocratic Russian rule. She is pos- 
sessed of a beautiful person, a glorious voice, and a strong moral and 
mental constitution; she is suspicious, as all Muscovites are, a thor- 
ough and cim^istent hater, a devoted friend, truthful to a degree: and 
she calmly swears on the holy image of the blessed St. Nicholas to an 
utter falsehood in order to screen her lover and to aid his cause. . . . 
The scenes are laid among that curious mixture of Oriental magnifi- 
cence and barbaric discomfort, of hivish expenditure and shabby 
makeshift, to be found in a Russian castle, with its splendid vast- 
uess, the immensity of its grounds, the immensity of the forests on 
all sides of it, and the general scale of immensity on which everything 
about it, and within it, is invariably coudnctedo Add to these Rus- 
sian prisons, Paris salons, French convents, the lyric stage at Milan, 
Socialists, Nihilists, priests, patriots, and vlvisectionists, and it will 
readily be i^een how strong and effective a story can be made by a 
woman so gifted in the telling of stories, the weaving of plots, and the 
study of character as Miss O'Meara has already proved herself to be. 
Narka Larik is a better woman morally tiian Anna Kareniiia, intel- 
lectually she is the superior of Katia, and she is quite worthy to stand 
by the side of these two illustrious countrywomen of hers as the expo- 
nent of all that is true and womanly in modern Russian life." 



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A STKANGE MAlSrUSCKIPT FOUND IN 
A COPPEE CYLmDEK. 

A Romance. Richly Illustrated by Gilbert Gaul. 
12rao, Cloth, Extra, $1 25. 



The writer of this book, whose name is still kept from the public, is 
in every way qualified to rank with Mr. Hagirard. Indeed, his clever 
analysis of Kosekin social laws is far more able, from a strictly liter- 
ary point of view, than anything Mr. Haggard has ever done — N. Y. 
Herald. 

A story of remarkable power and originality, as weird and as wild as 
the most extravagant of Rider Haggard's romances, but better fiction 
and better literature in every way. . . . The book is well worth the 
reading, not only for the strangeness of the story, but for the fancy 
and i)oetic sentiment that pervade it, for the brilliancy of the inven- 
tion that has been brought to bear upon it, and for the immense vivid- 
ness and animation of the descriptive narrative — Saturday Evening 
Gazette, Boston. 

. In close ccmnection with the author's fanciful creations there is no- 
ticeable a fine play of irony and humor, which lends a special charm 
to the story. The latter is full of movement, and even in tlie more ex- 
citing passages the exaggeration necessarily employed has no effect 
in wearying tiie reader's attention. — N. Y. Sun. 

Written in an inviting manner, it preserves throughout a lively 
pictorial charm and dramatic interest. The theme is original iu 
the extreme. . . . Withal the book is marvellously entertaining. Mr. 
Gaul's illustrations are unusually fine, as we should expact.— Brooklyn 
Times. 

It surpasses the best of Haggard's works in literary tone, and its 
fine dramatic construction and peculiar power of diction will readily 
be acknowledged by all readers. . . . Taking it altogether, this book 
is the most remarkable piece of fiction the new year has yet seen, and 
a revelation of the identity of the author would "be welcomed.— iSosfori 
Commonicealth. 

A book original in conception and most powerful and dramatic iu 
development. It is to be regretted that the author has not seen fit to 
reveal his wAme.— Washington Post. 

It is not possible for any one, much less a youth of either sex, to 
read "A Strange Manuscript" without feeling that wonderful charm 
that stole over us all when children upon the perusal of our favorite 
adventures. The cathedral clock may chime the fast-speeding hours, 
and the midnight taper burn to its socket, but this rare volume will 
remain before the eager eyes until the last page is ^mahQCi.— Hartford 



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H. RIDER HAGGARD'S STORIES. 



There are color, splendor, and passion everywhere; action in abun- 
dance ; constant variety and absorbing interest. Mr. IIagu;ard does 
not err on the side of niggardliness; he is only too affluent in de- 
scription and ornament. . . . There is a largeness, a freshness, and a 
strength about him which are full of promise and encouragement, 
the more since he has placed himself so unmistakably on the roman- 
tic side of ticMon ; that is, on the side of truth and permanent value. 
... He is already one of the foremost modern romance writers.— iV. Y. 
World. 

Mr. Haggard has a genius, not to say a great talent, for story-tell- 
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this country, where so many are trying to tell stories with no stories 
to tell, is a healthy sign, in that it shows that the love of fiction, pure 
and simple, is as strong as it was in the days of Dickens and Thack- 
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old days of Le Sage and Cervantes. — N. Y. Mail and Express. 

That region of the universe of romance which Mr. Haggard has 
opened up is better worth a visit than any that has been explored for 
many a long yeiu:— St. James's Gazette, London. 

There is a charm in tracing the ingenuity of the author, and a sense 
of satisfaction in his firm grasp of his subject. There is no uncer- 
tainty at all, no groping after material, but one vivid scene follows 
another until the reader says to himself, "Here, at last, is a novelist 
who is not attempting to spread out one dramatic situation so thiu 
that it can be made to do duty for an entire volume; a man of re- 
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TOISTY, THE MAID. 

A Novelette. By Blanche Willis Howard. Illustrated 
by Charles S. Reinhart. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 



" 'Tony, the Maid,' is not ouly one of the best pieces of work Miss 
Howard has yet done, but it is one of the very best short stories of the 
year. Tony herself is an original creation. There is no maid like 
Tony in all fiction ; and she is, moreover, the only good thing, which 
is neither superlatively beautiful nor emphatically a bore, or both, that 
has come ont of the Canton of Lucerne since the days of William Tell. 
Even the insatiate archer, when he is not mythical, is a trifle wearing 
to the average mind, but Tony is never tiresome and always grand. 

"As a short story Miss Howard's 'Tony, the Maid' has but one 
tanlt. It is too short. There is not enough of Tony. She makes her 
exit too suddenly and too completely. It is consoling to know, how- 
ever, that Miss Zschorcher is some day coming to America as Mrs. 
Eduard Maler, Perhaps Tony the Maid may figure as Tony the Ma- 
tron and Tony the Mother. Knowing her duty to her gracious Friiu- 
lein, no doubt she will." 

A bright and lively sketch of an American woman abroad, and char- 
acterized throughout by keen and forcible phraseology and a very 
symmetrical construction N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

This is a very clever satire on one of the phases of modern society, 
and the tale is told in a most charming mixwuGV.— Albany Press. 

It is a long tiuie since we have met with anything so charming, so 
refreshing, so droll. . . . Read this book once, and one wants to turn 
back and read it again.— iV. Y. Star. 

Mr. Reinhart's illustrations greatly enhance the interest of the nov- 
elette.— 2>tt/aZo Commercial Advertiser. 

A story written iu a style as simple as that which Miss Howard has 
adopted iu this novelette is sure to fiud many readers. The story is 
well told and attractive.— rroj/ Press. 

"Tony, the Maid," is safe for a great success with the lovers of the 
bright and dainty in litenUure. It is prettily bound, and uncommonly 
cleverly illustrated.— .V. Y. Graphic. 

The story is told with infinite humor and with not a little pathos, 
and it will well repay Y>e\-w»'A\.— Philadelphia Telegraph. 

The plot is new, the characters are fresh, and the handling is spirited 
and brisk. No one who commences this little book will stop reading 
until the eud is reached.— C/iJcagro Journal. 



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THEIR PILGRIMAGE. 

By Charles Dudley Warner. Richly Illustrated by 
C. S. Reinhart. pp. viii., 364. 8vo, Half Leather 

$2 00. 



Aside from the delicious story— its wonderful portraitures of char- 
acter and its dramatic development— the book is precious to all who 
know anything about the great American watering-places, for it con- 
tains incomparable descriptions of those famous resorts and their 
frequenters. Even without the aid of Mr. Reinhart's brilliant draw 
ings, Mr. Warner conjures up word-pictures of Cape May, Newport, 
Saratoga, Lake George, Kichtield Springs, Niagara, the White Mount- 
ains, and all the rest, which strike the eye like photographs, so clear 
is every outline. But Mr. Reiuhart's designs tit into the text so 
closely that we could not bear to part with a single one of them. 
"Their Pilgrimage" is destined, for an indefinite .'^accession of sum- 
mers, to be a ruling favorite with all visitors of the mountains, the 
beaches, and the spas.— A'. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

The author touches the canvas here and there with lines of color 
that fix and identify American character. Herein is the real charm 
for those who like it best, and for this one may anticipate that it will 
be one of the prominent books of the time. Of the fancy and humor 
of Mr. Warner, which in witchery of their play and power are quite 
independent of this or that subject, there is nothing to add. But ac- 
knowledgment is due Mr. Reinhart for nearly eighty finely conceived 
drawings. — Boston Globe. 

No more entertaining travelling companions for a tour of pleasure 
resorts could be wished for than those who in Mr. Warner's pages 
chat and lauL'h, and skim the cream of all the enjoyment to be found 
from Mount Washington to the Sulphur Springs. . . . His pen-pictures 
of the characters typical of each resort, of the manner of life followed 
at each, of the humor and absurdities peculiar to Saratoga, or New- 
port, or Bar Harbor, as the case may be, are as good-natured as they 
are clever. The satire, when there is any, is of the mildest, and the 
general tone is that of one glad to look on the brightest side of the 
cheerful, pleasure-seeking world with which he mingles. ... In Mr. 
Reinhart the author has an assistant who has done with his pencil 
almost exactly what Mr. Warner has accomplished with his pen.— 
Christian Union, N. Y. 



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BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. 



BAR HARBOR DAYS. A Tale of Mouut Desert Il- 
lustrated by Fenn and Hyde. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

A bright story of life at Mount Desert. ... It is exceedingly well 
done, and the scenery, the ways ot'the people, and the social methods 
of the rnsticators lend interest to the book. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 

The book is bright and readable.— CowWer, Boston. 

A delightful book about Mouut Desert, its summer inhabitants, 
their sayings and doiugs.— A'. V. Sun. 

One of the most attractive books of the season, and will be in great 
demand by readers who wish an original, captivating sunamer idyl.— 
Hartford Post. 

HELEN TROY 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

It is a breezy little society novel, with a pretty plot and a number 
of capitally drawn characters. . . It is always bright, fresh, and en- 
tertaining, and has an element of naturalness that is particularly 
pleasing. The descriptions are very spirited, the conversations are 
full of point and often genuinely witty, and the tone of the whole is 
both refined and delicate. — Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. 

The book is written with exceeding cleverness, and abounds in de- 
lightful little pictures.— T/ie Critic, N. Y. 

Mrs. Harrison's style is crisp, epigrammatic, piquant ; she shades 
her characters artistically, paints from real life, and, without hurrying 
the reader along, never lets her story drag. . . . The merit of the work 
lies in the fidelity of its portraiture and the felicity of its utterance. — 
N. Y. Herald. 

GOLDEN ROD , AN IDYL OF MOUNT DESERT. 
32mo, Paper, 25 cents ; Cloth, 40 cents. 

A very sweet little story of a successful courtship, wrought into a 
charming description of scenery and life on Mount Desert. — Spring- 
field (111.) State Journal. 

This is a most charming summer stor}'— " An Idyl of Mount Des- 
ert"— the mere reading of which makes you long to be there, and to 
feel sure you will find the delightful people, and just in the particular 
nooks, you have been reading about. — Galesbttrg (111.) Republican 
Register. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

J8®= The above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 



By K. M. JOimSTOK 



OLD MARK LANGSTOK A Tale of Duke's Creek. 
16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

DUKESBOROUGH TALES. Illustrated. 4to, Paper, 
25 cents. 

MR. ABSALOM BILLINGSLEA, AND OTHER 
GEORGIA FOLK. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

The people in these stories are of a simple, kindly disposition, with 
much active friendliness for one another, and with a total absence of 
that distrustful epoiism which teuds in our modern society to isolate 
the individual. Such characters as these good Georgia farmers re- 
quire no acute analysis ; and Mr. Johnston has the sympathy and the 
sense of humor which enables him to seize and portray their persou- 
ality effectively. — irate/iman, Boston. 

Mr. Johnston has won for himself an altogether distinctive place in 
this field of literature by reason of the peculiarly original and hitherto 
unworked character of the class whom he describes and the special 
aptitude he evinces for the task. Nothing save long and intimate res- 
idence among thetn, coui)led with rare powers of observation, and the 
still rarer gift, of faithful delineation, quickened by the sympathetic in- 
terest of friendship, could have gained for him such correct insight 
into their habits of thought, modes of expression, and ways of life, or 
the power he possesses of rendering interesting a hitherto homely and 
uupicturesque people ; but by the magic of his interpretations they be- 
come piquant, amubing, even attractive, endowed with a strong and 
vivid individuality which makes them seem veritable creations. — 
Washington Post. 

The men and women who figure in his pages seem more like real 
people than the creations of a novelist, and it can hardly he doubted, 
so vivid are the portraits, that the author met them all and knew them 
well. He seems to be rather giving his recollections than telling sto- 
ries of fictitious beings. There are few who will not enjoy the quaint 
and original writings of this clever hamoiiat.— Baltimore Neivs. 

Mr. Johnston is quaint and charming, and his stories are like bits of 
old china, or parts of costumes folded away in chests, holding in their 
silken folds a perfume we can find nowhere else. — N.Y. Star. 

Mr. Johnston has a keen sense of humor, and understanding of the 
adaptability of common incidents to the purposes of story-telling. He 
is a good story-teller, and is at his best when he is not inventing but 
remembering; for it is a peculiarity of these tales that they read like 
veritable pages from the real life of their actors.— iV. Y. Mail and Ex- 
press. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Any of the above works sent hy mail, postage prepaid, to any part 
of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 



^v^ 



BEJST-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 

By Lew. Wallace. New Edition from New Electrotype 
Plates, pp. 560. 16mo, Cloth, $1 50; Half Calf, $3 00. 



Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of 
this romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of 
Mr. Wallace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The 
scenes described in the New Testament are re-written with the power 
and skill of an accomplished master of style. — N. Y. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at 
the beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brill- 
iant. . . . We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes: we 
witness a sea-fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman 
galley, domestic interiors at Autioch, at Jerusalem, and among the 
tribes of the desert; palaces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman 
youth, the houses of pious families of Israel. There is plenty of ex- 
citing incident; everything is nuimated, vivid, and glowing.— iV. F. 
Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader's in- 
terest will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pro- 
nounced i)y all one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and 
there is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., 
to greatly strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

" Ben-Hur " is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is 
laid, and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to real- 
ize the nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalein and Ro- 
man life at Autioch at the time of our Saviour's ndveni.— Examiner, 
N.Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ's time, clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . , Few 
late works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. 
Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters oi \\\s.lovy.—Indiana/polis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional 
novel and romance. — Boston Journal. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

J?^ The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 



